Never Deal with a Dragon
by Sad Mudokon
Summary: In the lair of the enemy, the black mage people try to survive, clinging to the hope of a normal lifespan, while trying to come to grips with their own mortality and the moral dilemma of their situation. Third disk warning.
1. Punishment

Untitled 

Never Deal With a Dragon. 

Disclaimer: okay easy disclaimer. Everything belongs to their respective parties but nothing belongs to me. Not that I wouldn't want to have Vivi captive inside my basement, where I would love him and squeeze him and feed him cookies… Well anyway, there is little to no explanation as to how this story came about save that it was created from two major factors. The naturally rough terrain inside my own mind, and the almost physically painful (no screw almost! During a bunch of the really deep parts about Vivi I forget to breathe! Man that hurts…) love of everything related to the Black Mage people… so oppressed, so abused… *sniff* Damn you Zorn and Thorn! Damn you Kuja!! *shakes a fist* -well anyway, on with the show… 

---- 

The hot wind blew from the open doorway, bathing us all in grit as the group of us stood watch in the wide-open pit that was the Hilda Garde 1's resting place. Every few moments we would stop our relentless staring, pulling our eyes from the harsh, glaring light of the entrance and busily brush the dirt from our robes. Blasted sand… 

All but me… the sand, annoying as it was when it crept within my clothing, grinding against my skin, faded to nothingness as my eyes slowly began to focus, my amber gaze drawn to the softly gloved center of my own palm. I hadn't done anything even remotely relaxing since I had come to this hellhole in the middle of gods knows where, and it was time to get a little bit of those old creative juices flowing again… 

The cold gathered in my palm; sharp, but not unpleasantly so. A faint mist began to rise as the smallest flakes of hoarfrost began to spread across the soft cotton of my glove, raising the surface into faint, angular edges and sheets. It looked pretty, the way the light caught the faint, smooth bits of ice, but it wasn't precisely what I was looking for… 

Slowly measuring out a long, faint breath, I twist my palm a little, the ice making faint crackling noises as my fingers curl, the fingertips just starting to glow. The effect is subtle at first, the mist intensifying until it began to pour from my hand, cooled moisture condensing in the air to fall around me, pooling at my feet. 

A gentle glow turns my way, a pair of softly shining amber eyes tilted faintly in curiosity. My attention doesn't waver. Now isn't the time, the core had to be stable if everything was going to last more than a few fleeting moments… 

Turning, the type A, I didn't know whom at the moment (hard to see at that angle), nudged his friend, his voice respectfully low but excited as he leaned in close to the other first level mage. "Hey look, he's making another one!" 

I wanted to smile at them, invite them to watch if they wanted, but I couldn't… not now. It started as a small ball of ice, rather like a hailstone, hanging perfectly suspended in the cool blanket of air in my palm. It had been hard learning that discipline, the fleeting power of air, but it was necessary; the ice couldn't touch my hand or the smooth surface would be ruined, unworkable. It had to stay suspended; a defiance of gravity, and it was, perfectly. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the layers began to overlay themselves upon the minute hailstone in my palm, coating and recoating the small bit of ice until it had grown to about the size of a very small apple, hanging suspended and virgin in its cushion of air. I felt rather than saw the others move up behind me, gazing over my shoulder at the smooth glassy object in my palm. The one to my left, his voice soft, easy, asked in a curious voice. "What's this one gonna be?" 

I turn, looking at him from the corner of my eye, half concentrating as I ponder the question. "Hmm, I think… I think this one will be a Chocobo. Yeah… just like that nice mommy Chocobo, before she died. She was pretty…" 

A grin crinkles the amber glow of his eyes as he nods a bit. "Wow. That sounds like it's gonna be hard…" 

I merely shrug a little, my eyes turning back to the statue, saying absent-mindedly. "All it takes is a little precision, that's all… just a little control over it and a simple blizzard becomes…" 

I turned back to my work, my eyes narrowing in concentration as the mist roils in my hand. A subtle sweep of the neck, faintly shaggy with feathers… faintly, just a bit now, there… the head; proud, intelligent. The eyes knowing, seeming to stare directly into your soul. Almost, almost… there, that's great, now for the tail. Bit longer, bit spikier. Almost… hey, that looks pretty good. Feet feet… I begin to hum to myself softly, gently, stroking the rising buds of ice out and down, the toes spreading from nothing to tip themselves in the perfect hooflike claws of the splay footed bird. The Chocobo statue is upside down now, hanging suspended from the prison of air as the last toe suddenly curves into existence, the statue gently settling onto its side as I study it, gathering myself for the most laborious part… 

The wind makes a funny buzzing sound as it zips across the ice, small minute scratches appearing in the surface; precision, precision, my eyes narrowing to slits as the wind gently sculpts the last traces into the ice, the soft down of feathers slowly spreading across the body. The others watch, entranced as I work. I don't even notice them, my eyes deep into my task, not out of disrespect, but out of necessity. As far as I could tell, any of us could become artists, if given the inclination, the patience, and of course, the control… 

The last scratch was in place, the air around us almost dizzyingly cold. I strained to keep it up, the coldness, as my memory began to search for the last key, crucial spell. I had discovered it just yesterday, a giddy feeling rising in me when I had discovered what I had found… 

It had been lying forgotten, abandoned, in Kuja's storeroom. We weren't supposed to be in there, I knew, and I had felt great trepidations at the thought of being found out of line. Oh what Kuja would do to me if he ever found out… And then I had found it. Lying serenely on the floor, a simple bracelet, looking innocuous and plain, the metal surface carved with arcane symbols and tarnished with age. I bent, picking it up, allowing myself to probe at it, discovering its secrets. Occasionally simple clothing or armor contained a hidden secret, closed to the world, waiting to be found. I nearly dropped the item when I found it, hidden deep in the metal. A sense of inertia, of sluggish end, of frozenness without the cold. Could it be, a chronology spell? Slow, no… it felt too firm, too final for slow. Seductive, sinister, the power called to me. I was about to put it back, let it rest where it had fallen, when a thought came to me. An image, choked in sun. 

The sculpture had been perfect, sitting serenely on the balcony. A mirror miniature of Mr. 288, looking thoughtful as he always did. He had smiled at me, thanking me for the sentiment. He was so smart, so much smarter than me… But he seemed sad. I was confused, I asked why… He didn't answer at first, just stared at the statue, an ill-defined look on his face… 

Then I saw it. The puddle had begun soaking into the floorboards of the porch, the pretty glinting of the sun on ice muted now. It had only been mere moments, a breath of time… and the sculpture was melting already… it sagged, the perfect miniature staff nothing but a nub now, the hat's brim leaking down the face like tears… I had made Mr. 288 sad… 

I tried everything I could think of to preserve my pieces… the shade, cool and dark, did not spare them. Cabinets became soaked, yielding up their hidden treasures to inevitability. I even put one in the stream; my fevered mind hoping the chill of the water would preserve my handiwork… The rope noose was empty in five minutes. 

I had stared at the bracelet for a long time. If Mr. Kuja found out I had taken it… A shiver took me, rattling through me in trepidation… But then I saw Mr. 288 again, in my mind. He was smiling. Maybe… maybe when I met him again, I could finally give him a sculpture, one that he could look at for a long time… and maybe he would be happy… 

Snapping back to reality, I blushed faintly, sheepish at having drifted off again. Always doing that, bad habit… Rattling my sleeve, I shook my wrist, feeling the coolness of the bracelet slide firmly up the inky blackness of my arm, snug and cool against my skin. Smiling softly to myself, I raised my wrist, my eyes sliding closed as I calmed, searching for the center, the power well, deep within me. 

My companion turned, curious, his gaze moving away from the sculpture momentarily to the slackness of my wrist, my fingers curled faintly into my palm. His eyes widened a little as he turned back to me. 

I faltered, my concentration lagging and ebbing away as I felt the softly gloved hand on my back, pulling at my coat gently. Turning a little, I glanced back at the slightly bigger mage staring at me with faintly worried eyes. 

"Where did you get that?" 

"I was going to give it back" I reply distractedly, my gaze returning to the careful roiling of mist in my palm. "I've almost got it down. Maybe tonight I'll go put it back after duty…" 

His eyes were wide as he took a step back, shaking his head slightly in worry. "You shouldn't have done it. Kuja's gonna be mad…" 

I turn to him, imploring him to understand. It was the only way, the only way anything I did would stay, would last… maybe even last beyond me. It was the only way my art would live, instead of fading away… I search for a way to tell him, to make him understand. 

He's shaking his head, worried. "Master Kuja- Master Kuja will be angry with you… hey may… hurt you…" 

I don't even look up from my work. "Then I'll have to make sure that Kuja will never know…" 

- 

The collar of cloth wreathing my neck, so warm and comfortable a quarter of an instant ago, suddenly wraps around my throat, strangling me as the red cloth suddenly flattens itself under my chin, my head whipping back as I'm wrenched backwards, bending nearly double and about to fall. Cold, smooth knuckles graze the back of my neck as I flail awkwardly in space; one hand claws, the other trying desperately to hold onto my little ice Chocobo. I feel a tail feather crack, shattering under my too firm grip. I'm gonna drop it, I'm gonna drop it! Then I look up, and all thoughts of the perfect little blue white chocobo in my hand flies from my mind as my eyes suddenly snap open in utter, frozen terror. 

Kuja's gaze is soft, languid, disinterested. He blinks slowly, gazing down into my eyes with an almost bored expression. His gaze rove over me, studying me as one would study a shiny beetle; faintly interesting, but inevitably not worth the time. The two type A's behind me rise to their feet, shaky and scared, before inching out of the room. I don't even notice, not really. Can't blame them. But their absence leaves a sick feeling in my gut. Or is that master Kuja's knee in my lower back, grinding hard into me as he bends me nearly double in his grip? My hands, like claws, grasp at the air, helpless, useless. Kuja watches apathetically, a look of faintly disapproving contempt marring his flawless, icy features. One hand gently rising to flick an irritating strand of feathery silver hair spilling across one eye, his gaze finally locks with mine. I can't look away, my insides feeling like they're freezing solid within me. 

"What, precisely, are you doing?" 

My mouth, nearly invisible in the inky blackness of my face, works uselessly for several long seconds. His knee makes its strident presence know as he pulls back harder. I'm finding it harder to breathe, a faint dizziness rising within me. 

"G-guarding… M-master Kuja…" 

His eyes raise faintly, to the ugly hulk of the Hilda Garde 1 sitting serenely in the simple stone docking bay, the blowing sand outside running in faint streamers upon the docking ground floor. 

"Guarding…" 

I choke miserably, barely able to get the word out. His hand is terribly cold on the back of my neck. "Y-yeah…" 

"Guarding…"A faint smirk takes his face, empty and cold. For some odd reason, that seems to make things worse. 

"Guarding. Well now… that's rather funny…" 

I stiffen, nearly falling over in shock as a new coolness is introduced to me, via the side of my neck; a coolness, far too sharp, digging harshly into the flesh of my throat. 

Kuja continues, his voice almost jovial as he shakes his head a little, easily holding the small, simple knife in his free hand. Bluish purple blood begins to well, leaking slowly down the knife blade as he drags it across my skin a little more. "It's almost rather funny. Because, supposedly, if you were on guard duty, like I ordered you to, well then I wouldn't have been able to sneak up behind you and, oh, say… slit your throat? You see, you would have been watching for that sort of naughty and potentially dangerous behavior, now wouldn't you?" His hand tugs once, firmly, on my collar. I gag, gargling faintly… but nod once, my entire body shaking. 

Suddenly his hand jerks, pulling me upwards. My face nearly touches his as he holds me up beside him, his eye boring into mine. I'm frozen, I can't move… 

"You think you're so special. So untouchable, do you?" His laugh is soft, his breath warm and smelling of flowers. Had I the ability, I might have wet myself then and there. "I invited, you came. End of story right? A bit of work, a bit of labor, then boom, you have an eternity to live compared to before and then it's so long master is it?" 

Shaken, I stand, my back shooting with agony and my eyes wet. Gasping, I stand, off balance and shaking. "M'-s-sorry, Master Kuja,… w-won't happen again…" 

Kuja smiled softly to me, his voice almost gentle, a strange contrast to his next statement. "I invited you here. I, into my own house, invited you here with the promise of life…" 

Cold lips brushed the side of my face. I felt sick. 

"But giving life is only one part of it, my little mage… I am not limited in what I can do… 

"I can make you feel death… 

"I can make it real for you. Not a fast death, nor easy… but that which you pathetic fools have run so far away from, right into my grip… that, which you have so cutely titled, `stopping'…" 

Weight. On my chest. I can't breathe… the dark shadows of the edges of the room slink inwards, drinking in the light. My arms spasm in shock at the sudden sickly rushes running through my system; my hand opens. A sharp crack, a faint sound of tinkling… I don't even notice. It feels like there's something inside of me, sitting on my chest, teeth around my throat and claws digging into my head, directly through the eyes… 

I can barely feel Kuja as he lays me down upon the gritty floor, my gloved hands scrabbling slowly at nothing. I can barely hear him as he speaks. My eyes gutter faintly, the light flickering weakly, dimming… 

"That is the reason you came back to me, my mindless little puppet. That is the reason you came back… Why you give yourselves to me, willingly, with open arms. Poor little fools… But I think the lesson is over… don't want to go damaging my property any more than necessary, do we?" 

Then it stops, as sharply as it had begun. The absence of the feeling, the relief itself, was so sharp it almost served as a pain in and of itself. A ragged sobbing breath leaks from my throat. 

Something sharp is digging into my cheek. I can't turn my head. I can't even move… but I can see it. Well, just the tip of it. It's a claw. A hooflike claw, sculpted perfectly out of glassy ice, the appendage snapped off and gruesome looking, lying besides a pile of shattered ice and half melted water. A shadow falls over me, and I look up. I have to. It's just something that's demanded in a situation like that. 

"Do you understand?" 

"Yes…" 

A faint growl takes his voice. 

"Yes… master Kuja." 

As he walks away, I sit, with difficulty. Everything in me, every limb, every fiber urges sleep, shaken and sore. My hat, dented and torn, doesn't respond to my coaxing fingers, refusing to go back into its proper, familiar shape. I wipe at my face, my sleeve slipping down as I run a delicate glove under the damp amber glow of my eyes… 

"-What is that?" 

I freeze, my hand going rigid, my eyes going dead. Footsteps… 

A hand grasps my wrist, wrenching it behind my back as Kuja, strength unusual in such a fair frame, suddenly strikes out, pushing me to my knees. A squall of pain escapes my throat as my hat falls over my eyes, my knees leaving bluish purple smears on the rough, gritty sand strewn surface of the docking bay. 

I shake, utterly terrified as I feel a delicate, cold hand grasp my wrist, sliding up my arm… the bracelet! Oh no… 

"Where… did you get this?" 

Hatred, malice, anything but the cold emptiness of that voice. 

Unthinking, I blurt out the truth, my eyes wild. 

"St-store room. Found it… I was going to give it back…" I hated the quaver in my voice, the wetness on my face. I had never been so afraid… 

…even when I had first been born… 

The man, the broken off section of sword still piercing his belly, carried me down as he fell on top of me, covering me, pinning me as he screamed. I had struggled, wild with terror and the childlike confusion of our newly `born'. There was the sound of battle, of clashing steel and hard cursing, screams and the ever present stink of man and mage blood tainting the air. I hadn't known what it was, what any of it was. All I knew was that I was completely and utterly terrified… The man had died, pinning me, as another fell on top of my feet, soaking my legs in blood and crushing me under their combined weight… 

When the rescue party had arrived, they heard me. They must've mistaken me for a human being when they were rolling the bodies off of me, and so didn't react until I had leapt to my feet. Somehow I had managed to dodge the first startled thrust of the sword. They had been going around, finishing off downed mages… but I ran. I ran and ran, hiding and running, eating whatever I got my hands upon and fleeing everyone and everything in my path… It was a while later that I had discovered the other. He was a type A, shaken and wounded… I had helped him recover, hunting for food together and living like rats in the alleyways and shadows… 

Then we heard about the village. 

Nearly died getting there too; they patrolled the cargo ships too well… nearly found us more than once. 

But we had found it… I never should have left… 

Kuja's voice snapped out, pulling me back to reality with a crack like a whip. 

"Are you a thief now? In my own home…" 

"N-no… I wasn't going to keep it… I was just, just…" 

He pushed me down. My forehead met the floor, the scrape stinging as my eyes watered, pressed tightly shut. 

"This is too much. I have gone along with this ridiculous nonsense far to long… It ends here…" Then I saw it; eyes, watching from the darkness of the doorway, watching me. Amber glows, staring, afraid. I shut my own… Trying not to listen anymore… 

"Time for a little… exemplification…" 

The first came forth, his eyes muted, dim, as he approached the figure on the floor, against the wall, sitting in a slump, his head down. The one on the floor didn't move, didn't look up, didn't make any acknowledgement that he even knew the other mage was there. Maybe they had him blindfolded? Maybe he was really tired… The straw brim of his hat lay over his eyes, covering his features. He didn't look hurt… but his hands hung strangely, limp. 

The first approached softly, silently, his amber gaze worried. Bending gently, he eased to one knee, his eyes on the hunched figure of the type B before him, sitting sprawled on the floor. "H-hey… are you okay? Kuja… didn't hurt you much, did he?" 

Another figure at his back muttered worriedly to himself, kneading his fingertips together. "I told him he shouldn'tve done that… I told him Kuja would be mad…" 

The one protesting suddenly jostled forward, pushed faintly from behind. "Don't say that! Can't you tell he's in pain?" 

The first, his voice faint, whispered slightly in a faintly disturbed voice. "No, not really…" 

"What?" 

"Not pain. He's not… hurt… But something's wrong…" 

Bending, the first, concern in his amber eyes, shifted to one knee, attempting to look under the hat, his hand moving forward to comfortingly squeeze the smaller, thinner mage's shoulder. 

"H-hey, it's going to be all right… he didn't hurt you much, did he?" 

"…" 

"Um, h-hello? You can wake up now, he's not here…" 

"…" 

"Something's wrong." Turning back, he glances down at the mage. His hand firms on the smaller one's shoulder. 

"Hello?" 

"…" 

"Come on now. Wake up willya??" 

"…" 

"Answer me!!" 

His arm gives a firm, bone-grinding shake. Expecting a cry of pain, expecting a retreat, a squall of fear, of misery, he pulls back, his eyes going wide as the body just… falls over. 

Rolling limply on its side, the mage slumps over, his arms splayed like a lifeless marionette and his eyes empty, empty… 

Silence. The first mage stares, his eyes wide… 

"NO!!" 

Shaking the limp body frantically, he calls out, wrenching the smaller mage about. 

"WAKE UP! WAKE UP!!!" 

The other mages manage to drag him off after a moment; their hands disappearing under his hood to muffle his ragged sobbing screams as the look around, worried. Not wanting him to come. 

Limbs lifeless and mechanical, the small, frail bodied mage pulls himself up, eases back into his sitting position, and sinks back down into the same slumped posture, his eyes staring unfocused at a small, insignificant spot on the floor. 

A small dampness, a small darkness on the stone, nearly gone now… 

A dampness mirrored for only the briefest of moments in the small mages wide, empty eyes. 

Wheeew boy. First fic, rattled off before school… (shakes head) Okay, I know I'm new, and unfamiliar here. The lot of you are probably wondering to yourselves, `who the heck is this chump? What's she doing here? Get her! Lynch her! String'er up! Yeah yeah get the feathers! The tar! Yeah yeah, the scorpions! Get Quina! (noo! Not Quina! ^_^ man that TONGUE.) Heh well anyway, maybe it won't be THAT bad... this is my first ffIX fic, and won't be my last. It was just an idea or two that got jammed together in the celestial confusion of my head. Please please tell me all what you think of it, even if it's as harsh as `you blithering idiot! Black Mages don't act that way! And Kuja is WAY to straight in this one! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING??' (oh and I know that there probably isn't a bracelet that teaches stop, but I really didn't feel like digging up a weapons and armor list, sorry *shrugs*) …hopefully it's not quite that, but we'll see where things go. You can spew up all your diseased rantings at sad_mudokon@hotmail.com and leave me to clean up the mess J 

I'm also an artist, so I guess we'll see where things go from here too. I was so awed by the stories I found on this site… truly inspiring. 

Viva Vivi! All hail the Vivinator! *bows to the great one* 

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 0.6.7 -->


	2. Plea

Untitled 

Never Deal With a Dragon. 

Disclaimer: okay easy disclaimer. Everything belongs to their respective parties but nothing belongs to me, although I'm sure if I struck up a bargain with Kuja I could get a black mage on order (though I'd imagine the transport fees would be awful) Well anyway, there is little to no explanation as to how this story came about save that it was created from two major factors. The naturally rough terrain inside my own mind, and the almost physically painful love of everything related to the Black Mage people… 

Oh, and all hail the Black Waltzes: Sadistic bastitch aside, I'd vote number three over Bush any day. *Holds up a `Vote Waltz: Yield to inevitability you cringing wretches' sign proudly, hugging a vivi plushie into unconsciousness* 

---- 

…will you not talk? Can you take pity, I don't ask much… but won't you speak, please?? 

He paused in his patrolling, busily sweeping a drift of sand from the hem of his coat. Grumbling to himself a little, he paused, growling as the dust, rising in a faint cloud, immediately shifted, slipping up his sleeve to itch horribly. One hand, on impulse, tried to go after it, the fingers straining uselessly. Shaking his head in annoyance, the type A, pausing, settled himself against the cold stone wall behind him and settled his hand over the lacing on his sleeve, the thick leather straps loosening with difficulty. After a moment's struggling, the cloth hung free, and he sighed slightly to himself, letting his fingers brush delicately against the cool, almost spongy smooth blackness of his arm. Dust fell in a cloud, swirling into nothingness. 

He paused, his hand gripping the inside of his sleeve. A cold wind washed over him, ruffling his hat. His eyes dimmed as the hard, dry wind tugged at the corners, drinking the moisture from his wincing eyes. The sun was going down, tinting the sky with a bloody horizon. Everything was turning red, the stones stained with it, the shadows long and dark. Eerie… Oh well, back to a long, cold night of guard duty to come… He shivered at the thought. The forest had been a haven compared to this blasted place… wha? 

Thump. 

His head rose , his eyes sweeping the gloom in confusion. What was that? 

… 

Neh? Must be imagining things… He turned back to his wall, sighing as he settled himself down against the cold, rough stone. 

Thump. 

Huh? There it was again… 

Pushing off from the wall with one foot, he shifted, wandering slowly towards the sound, his eyes tilted and glowing in bafflement. Hand moving over his sleeve, he pulled busily at the last strap, setting the buckle into place. One hand trailing against the wall as he walked, he padded cautiously, his eyes wide and alert as he listened. 

…thump. 

What was going on? It almost sounded like someone was …hitting something… 

Thump thump *smack* 

*thwack* COME ON!! 

What the…? 

Turning the corner, he blinked, his eyes brightening and widening into a disbelieving glow. …what is he doing? 

The docking bay stood empty, the Hilda Garde's inert, ugly bulk casting a pool of shadow over the roughly hewn floor. The room was empty, save two figures and a lot of dust. He wandered further into the room, suspicious, confused. What was going on here? …Another stood there, another type A. He was standing beside a type B mage, smaller and thinner, the golden glint of the other's chain dull in the shadows. The figure didn't move at all, inert and immobile. The type B merely stood, slightly crooked, staring off into nothing, leaning away from his seeming companion. 

Wh-what?? A disbelieving sound rose in his throat, his hand leaving the wall as he rushed forward, his hand rising to the other A's shoulder. What is he doing?? 

The other didn't look up as he approached. Neither of them did. He just tensed, his eyes narrowing as he raised his fist once again… and brought it down brutally, as hard as he could, into his companions shoulder. The body just rocked, shifting slightly out of place, then back into its previous position. 

He reached the other A, his hand snapping to his shoulder, seizing the cloth. The other tried to shake him off, growling, whipping around to look at the obstruction. 

"Wh-what are you doing?? Stop it! You're hurting him!" 

The other whirled on him, his eyes glowing a strange color, almost greenish in the faint half light. "I WISH!" 

"What?" 

"I wish I WAS! I wish I WAS hurting him! I wish he would cry out, or turn around, or yell at me or kick me in the stomach or- or ANYTHING!!! Anything but just STANDING there…" The mage stilled, gaze falling and breath heaving in his throat. 

He could only shake his head, his gaze sad as he reached out, drawing his bereaved brother into a hug. His vision turned towards the last figure. It just stood there, staring off into nothingness. It wasn't even a `he' anymore… 

He had done wrong, even though he hadn't meant any harm by it… but this wasn't a punishment. This was… crazy, this was ridiculous. This was- wrong. 

"This has to end. Now." He patted the other's shoulder once, reassuringly. The other A looked up, curious, confused, wiping once at his eyes. "What- what are you going to do?" -his eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. "What are you going to do?" 

"Simple. I'm going to talk to Kuja." Releasing the other, he turned, and began to walk. No sense in waiting. It would only allow his cowardice to rise. He had to do this, and to do this he had to resolutely avoid letting his thoughts settle on exactly what… he was about… to… do? NO! Less thought more walking- 

"Wh-whaaat?? Talk to- NO! He'll wipe you too are you CRAZY?? Have you already started to degrade? Huh?? Come on STOP! You can't just talk to him he's Kuja! He'll flatten you!" 

I'm not hearing anything nobody is talking I'm just taking a nice walk just like in the forest the forest I'm never going to see the forest again I'm not going to ever see any of my friends ever again am I crazy maybe I am crazy I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna why am I DOING this?? His foot hesitated… no. Gotta keep going, gotta keep going… for his sake… for all of ours. 

The other watched, silent, as the figure stepped up to the teleporter, briefly stepping into the light and is gone… 

- 

One hand, the skin almost translucent in the faint light, rose in a delicate sweeping gesture, the smooth fingers gently easing a flowing strand of silvery hair behind his ear before lowering once again to the document, fingertip sliding across the fine parchment. His fine eyes, half lidded beneath the flamboyant blaze of red, idly ran over the words, his gaze bored and listless. Washed out eyes rose at the sudden, faint sound. A knock? The book sagged shut… Easing back in his chair, Kuja paused, his muscles relaxed as he propped first one, then the other delicate foot on the desk before him, lounging languidly in his chair. He pushed another irksome strand of hair behind his ear as he comments idly "Zorn, Thorn, if this is you I assure you the message you bear will be written out to me on the floor in your own blood, you were assigned to keep an eye on the… place…? What is this?" 

A delicately plucked and trimmed eyebrow rose slightly in exasperated disbelief as the figure hesitantly poked its head into the room. Far from the scrawny, wiry form of the two grizzled jesters, the figure that slowly crept into the room was broad, plush and shaking, the large, floppy brimmed hat pulled over its eyes. He couldn't decide whether he was supposed to be amused or offended by the lowly creature's presence in his sanctuary. He settled for a mixture of both as he settled himself comfortably in his chair, his eyes like twin daggers boring into the cowering figure of the black mage before him. "You have anything to report? Any disturbances…" 

"N-no sir. Everything's go at the docking bay. No incidents to report sir." 

He paused, waiting for the shaking figure to continue. Amusement turned slightly in the favor of ire as he paused, then continued. "Yessssss…? Then why, precisely, are you here, taking up space in my private sanctuary?" 

The figure fretted. His patience was just beginning to wear a little when it started, the walking doll's first opening statements not helping his mood in the least. 

"W-well… well, you see… um. W-we were kinda…. Well, well you know what happened a little… while… ago and um-" 

"Pathetic…" He shifted in his seat, his gaze wandering. "I suggest you get to the point before I forget you're here with a purpose at all and simply destroy you for being the wearisome eyesore you are…" 

"We, well… we all-" no, that's not right… "I. I… have come… with a request." 

"…A… request??" He couldn't quite keep the laugh from his voice, the figure before him hearing it and wilting… 

"Yes sir, a request. We- I, I ask you-" 

"Hold- Tell me…" He shifted in his chair, idly running his fingers through his hair as he sighed faintly to himself, a wry smile lighting his cold face. "Tell me this, my little toy… why, indeed, should I do anything for you? Why precisely should I do you a favor, mmm?" 

The figure, wide eyed under its hat, fretted, desperately trying to figure out what to say. If mages could sweat… 

He laughed, high and amused. Maybe this would be a little worth his time after all… "Oh, do go on… I'm sooo interested in hearing your opinion of why I should go out of my way to do you, my little reject puppet, a favor. Was there some task you intended to do for me? Was there some favor you could give me? Because I'm sure there must be something you could do that I would never be able to do, you being so very powerful and all and I, well… oh so very weak I'm sure…" His fingers played against each other, his smile crooked and sadistic as he watched the faintly dumpy figure fidget and fret. "Nothing? Nothing at all?" 

The voice was low, soft. "Wh-what would you… want?" 

"Mm so now it's an offer is it? Well… I'm sure if this favor is small and easy, I could find you some suitably… entertaining task…" He turned away, his face breaking out in an almost genuine smile. He turned a little, looking back at the nervous form of the mage. "Maybe I could order you to go out and bring me… oh I don't know… say, the mandibles of an antlion? Wouldn't that be fun…" Sweat nothing, if mages could blanch… he looked like he was managing fine though. He hadn't ever seen a mages eyes so pale before. This was fun… 

"Maybe an extermination run in the halls… the beasties have gotten bolder. Maybe I'll grab a few mages and send them out to flush out a few of the nastier unwelcome denizens of the place. Of course you all, being so gracious in your offering of help, must surely be strong enough to handle the bloodthirsty monsters, right? Shouldn't be a problem…" He waved a hand slightly, smirking. The mage had stopped moving. He was just about to turn back to his book, when a thought flitted across his consciousness. Voice disinterested, he drawled out. "Oh, and by the way… what was the favor you were asking for? 

The mages voice was monotone, his words soft and slow. "I wanted you to turn our friend back…" 

A pause. "I don't follow you…" 

"…It was a punishment…" 

Kuja paused, his eyes narrowing faintly in thought… "Hmm… punishment… punishment…" Stopping, Kuja raised his head, his eyes widening. Memory flashed, and his grin turned sickly. "Oh him… he's annoying. No can do little one… off with you now…" Waving his hand, he turned away, returning to the cold enveloping sanctity of his books… 

He waited for the door to close. Silent, he hung listening, his eyes fixed on a word he didn't even see. Seven, eight… either this mage was very stupid, very brave or damn desperate… eleven, twelve, thirteen… "You're still here little mage. I believe I told you to run along now…" He shifted a little, just to make the point… twenty five- 

"Then take me…" 

"I beg your pardon?" He immediately felt stupid for that one… 

The mage looked like he was about to be sick. Pale eyed and shaking, he stood there, legs spread and locked, fists tensed at his side and posture almost painfully straight. His eyes, insofar as they could convey an emotion, shown with a sick terror and a vibrant… something, could it be determination? Seeing his attention on him, the black mage perked up a little more, his voice determined. 

"I said… I s-said to take me… Take me away but give him- himself back. Please…" Am I INSANE?? Huh?? AM I?? What the hell am I DOING why the hell am I DOING this I've gotta be crazy I gotta be CRAZY… 

"Please…" He tasted the word, smirking faintly. He liked it when the mages said please… it… pleased him. He rose from his chair, watching with a self satisfied enjoyment as the mage took a shaky, involuntary step back, his eyes flashing yellow in nervousness… 

His steps were soft, languid, silent on the carpeting. He moved with the fluidity of a hunting cat, his eyes soft and appraising as he stalked towards the black mage before him, thoroughly enjoying every simpering cringe and wince. He stood before the mage, he was so much taller than it… It's hand clung to the edge of its hat as it tilted up to look at him, glowing gold eyes wide with a turbulent mixture of emotions… 

He bent. Easing to one knee, he settled himself down, his soft hand, the skin almost translucent in the faint light rising to the mage's shoulder. The fingers disappear under the edge of the collar and he gently spreads them, working them into the fabric for a good, strong grip… 

The mage starts shaking helplessly as he drew it forward, it's deceptive size lending nothing to it's weight as he shifted it towards him like a small sack of grain. The mage clung tightly to its hat like a lifeline… Just to spite it, he reached for the other side, tugging the hat gently off center, exposing the side of its face to the light. The inky black drew it in and the mage cringed from the sickly illumination… and the sickly sensation of the fair haired man's breath washing over its neck. Kuja leaned in close, sparks of playful sadism dancing merrily in his half lidded eyes. He held the mage tight, off balance, drinking in the shaken misery of the little apparition. 

"You know… I really wish the Black Waltzes were still alive… you would have been the perfect gift for one of them… hmm… yes. Number three would have loved you…" His fingers played against the cool black smoothness of it's face as he spoke, and his laugh was high and pure as he saw it begin to shake, trying not to move… 

"I would have loved to watch you, look in on you, as you were broken… number three loved doing that to you little guys. The newly awakened, the virgin born…. Those who awoke in transit, or even in the factory. I would bring them there. What use had I for a hopeless reject? It was impossible to recycle them, cheaper to make a new unit. They were useless to me… but he found them… entertaining." 

The mages eyes were wide, wider than he remembered seeing a mage's before. He smiled in the pulsing glow. "He would break them… it was like some sort of game to him. It kept him occupied… they would come to him, clean, pure, an open slate, their minds barely formed and empty, hungry…" He snickered at a memory. "He let me watch once. It was… interesting. It was always interesting seeing them right before he killed them. Seeing them in the final stages of their madness, the screams echoing from his private suite… how they would wilt under his hand, their minds cracking, breaking, degrading until they faded away, went catatonic, slipping back into the unformed arms of chaos from whence they had come…" He tilted the hat a little farther, staring calmly into the half closed eye of softest yellow-orange. "Those that he didn't strangle or blind. He always managed to find a new way with each one…" Kuja merely shrugged to himself slightly, sitting up a little and looking into the mage's face. The body was shaking, heaving and tight, the eyes… 

Liquid starlight poured from the eyes, leaking down the ebony smoothness of its face. It struggled not to cry, the enemy so near… It didn't move away as Kuja shifted subtly, leaning forward. 

"So small… so sad… oh you poor, poor little fool…" One hand gently trapped the back of the black mage's head, fingers like smooth iron, holding it in place. A small sound started, a thin leaking whimper as he easily ducked the dark rim, slipping beneath the mage's hat… 

It didn't move, didn't shake, didn't pull away or cry out as his tongue touched the smooth, cool flesh, gently tasting of the liquid starlight… Kuja shivered faintly, a soft purr escaping his throat as he felt the small shock of raw magic flutter through his system. He smiled down at the mage as he shifted, rising… His fingers lingered on the mage's shoulder a half moment longer then necessary, and he chuckled as the shaking resumed again, firmer and more wretched than before. He turned away without a second look, stepping back to his desk with careful, effeminate strides. His fingers lingered on the cover of the book… 

"Here's the deal my brave little fool. There is one simple fact you must learn. I hate martyrs… Oh, I find them funny and all that, in their own sickening way… but here is the offer: bring me a cup of coffee and I will restore your little companion's `humanity' to him…" He snickered derisively, walking around his desk to drape himself languidly over the chair. His eyes narrowed in amusement as he cracked open the book, putting a measure of harshness in his voice. "Well?? CHOP CHOP!!" 

The book slamming closed counted just as well as a clap as the mage ducked with a particularly out of place `eep!' as it turned, hurrying away from the chamber as fast as its short legs would carry it. 

He snickered, turning back to his book. This really was fun… he'd have to do that more often… 

_ 

I'm thinking of doing an expansion fic to go into more detail about all that the waltzes did whenever they were bestowed pets… but of course that might prove a little too much for our younger readers (Sorry folks! ^_^) But anyway, this is the second in Odds knows how many fics will result for our poor misbegotten beguiled little artist… (and why is a cramp beginning to develop in my cheek? Is it because of all the cruel grinning I did while writing this twisted chapter?) Oh, and a piccie gift for the one who can identify this quote: "Double latte… twist of lemon… (in a low, sultry voice) …sweet and low…" Heh. Well anyway, have any comments, flames, suggestions or email pipe bombs send em over to sad_mudokon@hotmail.com and share the happy ranting. I love it when people think that I've cracked ^_^ 

…poor little artist, he isn't even in this one! But he will be, he WILL BE! Have faith peoples! =) 

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 0.6.7 --> 


	3. Awakening

Never Deal With a Dragon.  
  
Disclaimer: okay easy disclaimer. Everything belongs to their respective parties but nothing belongs to me. Not that it wouldn't be so very neat to work at the Terran Embassy on Gaia. Heck, I'd be a janitor to be there ^_^ (ack! I already am here! oh gods the shame...) Well anyway, there is little to no explanation as to how this story came about save that it was created from two major factors. The naturally rough terrain inside my own mind, and the almost physically painful love of everything related to the Black Mage people... those guileless innocents, trapped in a world that hates them for the color of their spells... (Heh, too much 8 bit theater) ...well anyway, on with the show! *adjusts the button on her shirt, reading 'Support ethnic diversity on Gaia! Hug a black mage today!' and smiles*  
  
  
  
"Sometimes, understand the master Kuja, I do not..."  
  
"Indeed, I too suffer your uncertainty. Why he deals with these broken puppets I do not know."  
  
"Fix them all he should. Re-break yet again that which is fixed I do not know why. Again, motives a mystery his are."  
  
Zorn glanced over at his 'twin', raising a thin, bony hand to swat faintly at one of the other grizzled jester's dangling bells. It made a discordant chiming noise in the faint silence of the room, the soft, lush carpet drinking in the sound without an echo. Thorn quieted, his eyes narrowing to slits as he shot his 'brother' a scathing look. Zorn returned the glare dagger for dagger. He merely shook his own head, ignoring his hat's jangling commentary, and briefly bared his worn, yellowed teeth. "We cannot start questioning the master Kuja. We are merely to trust him in his grasp of the master scheme and merely play our parts."  
  
Thorn suddenly growled, his small fists clenching tightly into a knot of thin, weathered skin and muscles standing at alert like a ball of metal cords. He punches the air once. "Mages a mistake, I have always thought. Create such useless things, I know not why he did. Pathetic things they are! Pathetic!"  
  
Zorn merely shook his head, continuing his steady, sedate padding across the carpet. He glanced out of the corner of one of his thin, rheumy eyes, his gaze reproachful. "But master Kuja did, and is currently enlisting their... aid..." He spits the word like a curse, his expression unpleasant as if he had just bitten into a geshahl pickle "And he wants us to... re-break as you have so poignantly put it... one of these worthless little dolls. And THAT..." Punches the air himself. " is what we are going to do..."  
  
"A bad idea, this is."  
  
"I think so too... a mind is a terrible waste."  
  
-  
  
Hold_position_hold_position_hold_position_hold_position_hold_position  
_five_seconds_four_three_two_one_look_right_fourty_five_degrees_hold_five_four_three_two_one  
_look_forward_hold_position_hold_position_hold_position_hold_position  
_five_seconds_four_three_two_one_look_left_fourty_five_degrees_hold_five_four_three_two_one  
_look_forward_hold_position_hold_position_hold---_movement_thirty_five_degrees_right_fixate_prep_retaliation_identify... identity_acceptable_return_to_position_zero_hold_position_hold_position...  
  
The figure turned in a mechanical jerk, the hand rising from its serene, relaxed position by its side to flex, fingers curled to claws. The air rippled and roiled as the blast of sub zero air was gathered... before being released to dissipate harmlessly like a bad October chill. The body turned once again, utterly ignoring the two wiry, grizzled figures stepping towards it across the rough stone floor, its attention turning firmly back to its programming. It didn't react as the two small, dour faced figures approached, their eyes narrow and their paper thin lips pursed in disapproving contempt. "Pathetic they are... why master Kuja would assign US I do not know..."  
  
"Indeed." Zorn glanced up and up... despite the fact that the black mages were less than stately in height and stature, to him it loomed above him. He grimaced in annoyance at the whole thing, measuring the still, hunched figure before him for a good long second... and brings his foot back, kicking out viciously at the mage's right shin.   
  
"YOU!" His voice was high and shrill. The figure... utterly ignored him, not even reacting to the sharp, forceful blow.   
  
"..."  
  
"I am talking to you! Bend down! Now!"  
  
"..."  
  
"Blargh! Blasted blasted black mages!!" Flailing his fists in a sudden tide of aggravated frustration, he dances around for a few moments, his face a grimace of anger, eyes like twin little sparks. The body rocked faintly several times as he vented, his foot snapping outward to slam with a heavy, reverberating thunk into the mage's lower right leg. No reaction, no response, not even a wince. It only made him that much more angry...  
  
"blast it blast it I HATE this!!"  
  
"..."  
  
"And YOU! I hate you too!"  
  
"..."  
  
Thorn watched, amused, as his other half capered wildly in rage, throwing a royal tantrum about the whole thing... The black mage made absolutely no response, staring off into space to occasionally twist its head, the gesture lifeless and mechanical. After a good minute or so, Thorn shook his head, stepping up... and placed a consoling hand on his 'twin's shoulder.  
  
"Enough that is. Wasting time we are here. Get done we should so out of this hellish place we can be..."  
  
Nodding, Zorn turned a glaring eye on the form of the mage standing above him, his loathing eyes taking in every detail of the utterly deadpan face. Ooh he'd make this one pay... "You are right here... I guess this will require a bit of improvisation... and agility."  
  
Tensing, he ducked low, eyeing the distances involved very carefully... and leapt. His hand catching the buckle of the mage's gilt belt, he pulled, hauling himself up with the aid of a foot on the mage's knee. The mage bobbed faintly, momentarily thrown off balance by the sudden addition of weight... before straightening. Zorn cursed bitterly, nearly losing his grip.  
  
Thorn just watched, one hand pressed firmly to his mouth to smother the urge to burst out in riotous laughter.   
  
Zorn, one hand locked in a deathgrip around the mage's belt, placed a knee firmly in a fold of the mage's cloth and tensed... lunging upwards, his outstretched hand grasped wildly... before catching onto the edge of the mage's collar. The body bent severely as he grunted, hauling himself up. "Blast you. Blast you blast... YOU! Uugh!"   
  
He stood, both feet braced firmly on the metal links of the belt, one hand still locked firmly around a bunched handful of the mage's collar. His eyes were cold and slitted as he stared into the mage's face. The mage didn't even seem to see him, staring off a few inches to his left.  
  
"Oh yes, you and I are going to have quite the talk after this....." One hand freeing itself from the mage's collar, Zorn turned, twisting as he reached behind him... to the small vial tucked into his belt. Holding it gently in his gloved hands, he stares at it for a moment... before turning to his 'twin' with a quizzical look. "What does this stuff do again, remind me?"  
  
Thorn shot him a suspicious, wearied look, his weathered face breaking out in a spreading wave of narrow lines wrinkling across his paper thin skin. He tilts his head, the tiny bells jangling oddly at the arching tips of his hat. "What, pay attention to the Master Kuja you did not?"  
  
Zorn looked away, a fierce, sheepish grimace fixed across his thin features. "Well, it WAS your turn..."  
  
Thorn just shook his head, leaning back to gaze up at his 'brother', precariously perched on the front of the mage's clothing. The mage didn't seem to mind overmuch, continuing its gaze's patrolling sweep, the movements unhindered by the faint tilt the small, wiry jester's weight lent to it. Utterly pathetic.... Zorn thought. This just wasn't a good idea.... He sighed. Shaking his hat once fiercely, he paused as the bells clanged their strident discord, his posture hunched and his arms crossed disapprovingly. He growled a little, easing into the explanation with a shrug. "A disrupter it is, its means recall I do not... but know this I do... that disrupts the master Kuja's orders it does, and, essentially... the conditions of the initial waking it does simulate... And, as said before I have, a bad, bad idea this is..."  
  
"Yes, well, tell that to master Kuja..." Zorn shook his head, one of the bells on his odd, flamboyant hat sweeping to the side to strike the mage in the face. He studied it for a moment, his hand tightening on the collar... before, deftly, he popped the top of the vial free with his thumb.  
  
"Open your mouth"  
  
"..."  
  
"Ahh, making this difficult are you?"  
  
"..."  
  
Zorn's eyes narrowed as he calmed down slightly, his attention turning to the slow, steady rise and fall of the mage's body beneath his feet... the subtle rise, the shifting posture and the faint, faint increase of glow in the eyes every time the mage took a breath... He paused, getting the rhythm and growled. "Just remember, toy, you bright this..... ALL of this actually, on yourself...."  
  
The mage breathed in, reaching the limit of its lung's capacity... Zorn narrowed his eyes, watching..... barely visible, the mage's lips parted faintly with the first subtle out-take of breath...  
  
Shifting, Zorn raised the vial, easing it into place in his fist... and brought his hand down, slamming the vial between the sable lips. The mage's eyes suddenly flashed, turning almost white...  
  
Holding himself firmly, Zorn measured the distance, then brought his fist up... and in. His hand, held ridged and flat, snapped under the mage's chin, behind the collar, slamming into the black, delicate sweep of the mage's neck. The mage reacted then, reeling back in sudden shock as, unthinking, the mage tried to draw breath. Reflexively, the throat swallowed...  
  
The vial fell from numb lips, the mage's eyes widening subtly, the glow rising..... then beginning to fluctuate. One leg began to shake as the mage just stood there, staring off into space... Zorn, suspicious, watched it face to face for a moment.... before letting go to fall gracefully at the mage's feet, landing like a cat. He cast one smug grin to his red hued other, tilting his head smugly.  
  
The mage, posture impeccable just moments ago... began to reel, one leg half collapsed under some indefinite weight. It staggered faintly, head tipping, gaze lowering to the floor. The eyes... they seemed almost green, a sickening hue as the mage tilted, looking ill and broken as it nearly fell. Breath came ragged, heaving, as if one fighting the urge to wretch...  
  
hold_position_hold_posit-_*warning_warning_th...reat_de..._tected*-_processes_breaking_down_sub...routines_failing_contami...nation_con...tami...nation_virus_warning_threat_detected_error_error_err...or..._e-e-err-rr-rorr...ee....rr-rr-rr-..._or..._err.........._uugh......oh, gods......  
  
-  
  
Head. Hurt. Eyes. Burning. Body... I can't feel my legs. Do I even have legs? What are legs? What are eyes? What's happening...  
  
I open my eyes on reflex, clumsy as if I had done it voluntarily for a long time...and opened to a world of nothingness, a cruel, mocking white.... The light came in, spearing into me, hurting me... I couldn't see anything.... I couldn't see... I couldn't.... it's hurting me... why is it hurting me? Please, somebody make it stop...  
  
Muscles twitch. I raised my head...  
  
It was then that my body seemed to realize it was alive, and took the opportunity to the fullest of its advantage. A hand within me rose, slipping from some undefined spot within me to wind its fingers in my innards, stirring and squeezing at the same time. I reeled blindly, eyes going closed as I stumbled. The floor I could feel, the stones rough and uncaring as my knees struck them, the weak skin giving way to stain my pants a plum purple blue... I felt like I was going to vomit, like I was going to die, my mind running like cold soup within me and my eyes staring blindly, blindly...   
  
I fell. I couldn't catch myself and I didn't try.   
  
My head hit the rock, the rim of my hat pressing to my face as a sickening panorama of stars explode dazzlingly behind my already blind eyes... I did wretch then, I couldn't help it, my hand clamped to my mouth as I struggled to remain awake in a mind that wanted nothing more than to slip into the blissful nothingness of the void yawning before me. A high, keening whine rose in my throat. I couldn't stop it, so didn't try, uncaring as I lay there, whimpering, my mind burning and my guts twisting inside me....  
  
I don't know how long I lay there, breath ragged and mind slowly, slowly coagulating into the semblance of something functional. My eyes were closed. I don't remember closing them. Where am I? What happened? Oh gods my head hurt... why can't I remember? Why can't I remember... anything?  
  
My breath quickened within me. Okay, okay, basic basic's first..... name... name.... I let out a long, tremulous breath. Serial number 123B. I, I still knew that.... Wh-what day was it? ...no idea. Not important. What was I? I had a faint but firm grasp of that.... Wh-what had... happened... I roll onto my back, my hands weak and shaking as I clamp them around the queasiness within me...  
  
"Ahh, awake are you?"  
  
"Aww, tummy hurt? Poor little one, so lost, so alone..."  
  
A strange sensation came to me. Confused, I turned blindly towards it... well, not quite, not anymore....  
  
Sparks dancing in my vision, I blinked helplessly, peering blearily through the dancing points of light...  
  
A pair of narrow, steely gray eyes met his, the skin around them pale white and rugged. I blink. The glow of my eyes glints in his eyes, reflected in the narrow, cold gaze... the eyes narrowed, moving away slightly. His face... had I seen it before? ...A vaguely aquiline nose, tight and bony. Thin, hollow cheeks and dark, virulent looking hollows beneath the eyes. Thin lips, pale and pursed in disapproval. Hey... I recognize that face... that... that was... I blink helplessly, clearing my vision as best I can... my shoulder... hurts...  
  
The narrow, spidery fingers trail from my shoulder, relinquishing their grip as they drift over the maroon cloth of my coat, slipping across my collar. I try to draw away, closing my eyes as I feel the cloth fingertip press against my cheek. He's touching me... I don't like that....  
  
He presses harder. The pressure begins to become painful... A deep growl in his throat, Zorn bent, his eyes an inch from my face. "Next time you and I meet, there will be a very, very simple rule you will follow, one even a broken little toy like you will be able to understand. It's rather simple. -I talk to you, you listen. I tell you to do something, you do it. DO YOU UNDERSTAND??"  
  
I nod as best I can against the floor, the sand grinding against my cheek. "Yes... I mean... yes... sir." I don't notice the sand, don't notice the nausea twisting in my gut or the harsh pressure of Zorn's hand as it cups my face, the fingertips unkind... I just want to go to sleep....  
  
The hand becomes painful. I open my eyes.   
  
"Wake up! You have not been given the permission to go to sleep." His other hand finds my face as well, shaking me slightly as he gazes into my eyes. I hate his eyes, the ice and steel in that thin, dour gaze. Muttering faintly, I nod, my breath slowing faintly, the nausea lessening somewhat. "Yes sir... sorry sir..."  
  
His eyes lock on mine. I stare, silent and still. His eyes are so cold......  
  
"Do not ever cross me again mage. Things would go very badly for you..."  
  
On my third try, I manage a response, my words sounding awkward and dumb in my mouth. I hate it... "Yes sir. I'm sorry..."  
  
"I'm sure you are..." Pulling away, he releases me, his hat jangling slightly as he turns to stare at me over his shoulder, his gaze icy and his face tight. Thorn blinks, looking over his twin in slight confusion as the jester steps away, shaking his head a little till the tiny bells danced and tinkled. Thorn turned, looking at me once before following his silent brother, his steps hesitant and his demeanor confused.  
  
-  
  
I rise. Or at least try to, making it almost to my knees... I struggle, shaking. So weak... My eyes slide closed as my hands go limp against the floor, my body beginning to ease back down...  
  
...Before opening again, the pale lemony yellow deepening to a goldenrod hue as I feel a pair of hands ease around me, slipping over my coat to gently close over me, drawing me up... I glance down dully, my mind half asleep as I blink, confused. The hands are large, easily the size of my head; the fingers, thick and soft, gloved in a cocoon of warm cotton cloth. The sleeves hang loose, puffy, the belt around them holding them closed... I shake my head, still muggy from the... something.... What had happened anyway? I couldn't recall.... I couldn't... think...  
  
My brother holds me, his hands gentle. I hang, my balance shot and my mind swimming.... My head hurts.... I don't like it when it hurts.   
  
He takes me in his arms, turning me as he holds me to the warm, almost plushy softness of his body. One hand on my back, the other slides up, over my shoulders, gently moving to the back of my neck as he eases my face into the hollow of his collarbone. His eyes are sad...  
  
"Are you... okay?"  
  
"...my head hurts 56. It hurts so bad..." I press myself against him, drinking in the warmth leaking from his jacket. He is silent for a moment, his hands soft as they gently caress the back of my neck, comforting me as one would a scared child. I didn't care if anyone saw me.... I buried my face against his shoulder, my hands shaking as they clamped themselves to his hips and let out a long, low keening cry....  
  
"It hurts so bad 56... it hurts..."  
  
His voice is soft as he nuzzles me, his big arms holding me close. "I know... I'm sorry..."   
  
I sob softly, body shaking as I lean into him, silently accepting his embrace. His breath bathing the back of my neck, I lean into him, soaking in the calming comfort of his brotherly arms. He shakes his head, the floppy brim of his hat brushing mine. "We thought we had lost you 123... we thought we had lost you..." His voice breaks a little and he stills, quieting. I merely remain as I am, my face against his jacket and my hands around him... I pull away, glancing down with bleary, pale eyes at the sweep of his shoulder before me, my hand rising to rub a dull finger against the faintly glowing, silvery stain of my tears on his cloth. My voice a muttered breath, I murmur. "M'sorry..."  
  
He gives the back of my neck a squeeze. "Hey... it's okay... we all have to cry sometime..."  
  
"My head hurts... it won't stop hurting... it won't stop..." I whimper helplessly, my kneed weak as my eyes half close, wincing at the surging, dull tide in my mind. I can't think straight... what had happened? Trying to remember only made it worse and I whimpered again, my voice soft and pathetic in my ears.  
  
His hands found my face, gently cupping the featureless blackness of my cheeks. Just like Zorn had done... but this time it felt good ... good, instead of the sudden rush of sickly fear and... something, something bad, when Zorn had touched me that way... But 56's hands were gentle, his fingers soft and warm... I leaned into one of his hands, pressing my face to the palm and letting my eyes slide closed. He smiled, his eyes rising faintly in a warm expression as a thumb gently ran under my eye...  
  
"It's good to have you back 123. We missed you so much..."  
  
(*there is a strident snapping sound, and a gentle ripple as reality parts, leaving in it's stead a small, rather pathetic looking thing with greenish blue skin and wide, luminescent eyes. The little thing busily pulls out a notepad and clears its throat, its voice high and faintly nasal. "Ahem. As an author's note, I would just like to say that in the previous scene there is no 'thing' between 123 and 56. Being essentially children, and brothers {cousins?} besides, there is nothing harmful in their mutual snuggling. It is just done to comfort, and holds no excess innuendoes. So don't let it creep you out. Nothing is meant by it except the love of the family. Thanks muchly." *the notebook snaps shut with a crack and in a sudden flash of light the mudokon disappears in a rising flock of pale, dovelike birds. Fade out*)  
  
-  
  
Kuja glances up, disinterested, once again distracted from his manuscript... he tilts his head, hearing a faint jingling sound in the hall outside.... And sighs, long and low. Gently easing his book closed, he rises, readjusting the rather risqué clothing around his waist and gently raises a hand to a loose, feathery tuft of his platinum hair, the drift ticklish and maddening against the delicate skin of his forehead. It never fails, does it? One progresses evenly through a piece, only to find a section of great note and interest... and some distraction always manages to raise its ugly head. Or, he reflected as he moved silently to the teleporter, slipping behind it into a small cant of shadow and sinking into a stony silence, in this case two very ugly faces, capped by those ridiculous hats...  
  
A beam of light, suddenly springing to life to swirl up and around the teleporter in a rippling gale of blazing blue illumination, pours out from the floor, blinding in its intensity. After one long, painful moment, it begins to fade... revealing a pair of short, distinct figures caught in the harsh light. One, clad in crimson stripes, rubs at his eyes with taut, bony knuckles, muttering brokenly. His brother doesn't even seem to notice the harsh and blinding light. He merely stares off into space, his eyes narrowed and his thin, wrinkled lips pursed tight. The pair, stepping carefully out of the aqua hued circle set into the floor, raise their heads to the room, glancing around for the form of their reclining master...  
  
"Seems to be here he doesn't.... Perhaps on a walk he is?"  
  
His brother does not look at him as he snaps out, snarling. "I don't know! Why do I always have to be the one to know thing?!"  
  
The teleporter knows good and well that he doesn't want it to activate, and so does not as he steps softly across it, his footsteps lithe and fluid across the gentle sweep of the floor. Approaching the two bickering figures with the predatory ease of a stalking cat, he stalks forward silently, his eyes cold and amused.   
  
"A rhetorical question it was! Take things in such a terrible light I know not why you do... fitful and childish you are acting! Calm down you must! Calm down..."   
  
he stepped behind them, utterly silent. Absorbed in their own argument, they never even noticed his presence...  
  
"Calm down? CALM DOWN?? YOU weren't the one... s-slighted! SLIGHTED by a MAGE! By one of those worthless puppets..." His fists tense to balls of rocklike muscle and bone, his eyes bright and fuming, twin live coals of rage....  
  
He reaches out, his hands graceful as they ease to the twin jangling bells dancing before him ...  
  
" Calmness you should seek. Anger, at your age, a good idea is not- uh?" Thorn yelped in startled pain as he felt his hat wrenched around and to the side... and slammed brutally into his brother. Zorn's forehead met his, a strident clunking sound erupting as their skulls met. His hand fixed onto one of the wrinkles of his brother's coat, clinging to him in the sudden pain and disorientation as the two withered jesters fixed onto each other like a lifeline, blinking and dazed...  
  
With a gentle, fluid movement, Kuja bent, easing to one knee and almost affectionately slipping a languid hand around each jester's hunched, bony shoulder. The two figures shook faintly at the touch, turning to gaze upon him as he descended, their eyes half closed and nervous... Thorn raised a hand, his fingers delicately exploring the thin skin stretched across his bony forehead, probing a little as his eyes lock on those of his master. "Master Kuja... have a request of us d-do you have?" His brother merely said something that sounded like "mouch" and ran both hands over his bony, aquiline face.  
  
Gently tousling the red clad jester's hat, Kuja smiled warmly, his face remarkably pleasant. Drawing the two nervous figures closer, he leaned in close, his eyes half lidded beneath their dramatic swatches of scarlet face paint. Thorn's eyes wince closed as he feels his master's face approach his... breath gentle on the thin, pale flesh, Kuja leans in close, his voice pleasant and amiable... "So, my pathetic little excuses for servants, what news have you to bring me hmm?"  
  
Zorn's hand, unseen behind his brother's back, briefly gives his brother's side a squeeze of reassurance, and clears his throat. Thorn seems to be shaking a little... "Our task has been completed Master Kuja, The mage is awake, as requested..."  
  
"Good, good..." Zorn winced slightly, feeling the master's attention fixed upon him... "You both have done so well..." Voice even, he leans in closer to the blue clad jester. Zorn stiffened, the cool sensation of Kuja's hand sliding softly against the back of his neck, playing gently under his collar... the fingers were smooth, running over his skin to play along the bumpy ridge of his spine... "I will simply have to find some way to.... reward you both..."  
  
Thorn coughed then, choking faintly as he stuttered out. "N-no need Mater Kuja. Serving alone reward enough it is..."  
  
Zorn shook. The hand left the back of his neck as it moved around... and abruptly Thorn's coat pulled through his fingers. Thorn seemed tiny and insignificant, hanging in his master's grip as Kuja, fingers firmly entwined in the front of his servant's coat, lifted him, holding him very close... his voice wasn't warm anymore. "You are a funny little person. You entertain me, you know that? ....make sure you keep it that way... understand?"  
  
Thorn nodded, his hat slipping down over his face... his hand shook as he righted it, the angle of his body in Kuja's arms making his facial expression unable to be seen by his grounded brother. Zorn's hands tightened in his own coat as he stood, silently... Thorn simply nodded, not saying a word...  
  
"Good. Now get out of my sight."  
  
Zorn took hold of his brother, gripping him firmly by the cloth of his shoulders and, half dragging the shaken figure, pulled him from the room. Before they had left the room, Kuja suddenly called out, his voice acid. "And send that blasted mage in! I want to have... words... with him."  
  
"Yes master Kuja, as you request master Kuja..."  
  
-  
  
The air was mercifully still as they stepped across the cavern floor, having been silent for the entirety of the trip. Zorn didn't press. He knew if Thorn was going to say something, he was going to say it when he was good and ready...  
  
Almost as if on cue, the other jester suddenly lets out a long, ragged breath. His voice seems rough and shaky... "Always rough and angry with us Brahne was... always hateful and insulting Brahne was..."  
  
Zorn nodded softly, his hat making a small tune to the movement.  
  
Thorn stared at his hands, his fingers gently twining and untwining with each other. His voice, when he continues, can barely he heard... "But, make me feel bad just by being there, by being close, queen Brahne never did... Scared of master Kuja I must admit I am... scared he makes me so sometimes..."  
  
Zorn, stepping close, suddenly and unexpectedly leans out, taking his ancient brother in a firm perfunctory hug, holding him close for a short moment before releasing him once again. Thorn paused, turning to look at his brother in shock, utterly surprised by even such a small gesture of affection... and nods, once, understanding. Zorn's voice is rough as he grumbles out. "Come on. Let us go and find this pathetic excuse for a wind up toy and get this mission done with..."  
  
Thorn only nodded, gently playing with one of the bells on his hat...  
  
  
  
okay, before you all start clubbing me about just how creepy I'm making Kuja, you must understand that that is my goal here. There is a simple mathematical fact you must consider. Fact A. I am writing a fic about the black mages. Writing fic about black mages = likes black mage people. Fact B. Kuja toyed shamelessly with the black mage people's lives, laughing in their face and shamelessly taking advantage of their naiveté and adolescence, using them and then throwing them away like a cheap harlot. Kuja not like black mages = Kuja not a very nice person and enemy #1 to black mage people. And therefore (can't find the keyboard button for the three pyramid shaped dots that is the mathematical 'therefore' symbol) Kuja enemy to the black mage people + I adore the black mage people = I have little love for one overly effeminate man. And therefore when I write for him, my mind naturally finds the correct cant for the actions that creep would take...   
  
The odd thing was that I had originally thought I hated Zorn and Thorn. But I came to realize that they are merely assistants. They kick those beneath them simply because they are kicked so hard by the ones directly above. *shrug* so I forgive you Zorn and Thorn...  
  
Oh, and I'd like to thank all the fanfic writers out there for inspiring me in this endeavor, and showing me that it wasn't a silly, stupid idea to write stories about those onix faced, amber eyed innocents....  
  
*bows, waves and suddenly erupts into a rising flock of birds* see you in chapter four! 


	4. Anguish

Never Deal With a Dragon.  
  
Disclaimer: okay easy disclaimer. Everything belongs to their respective parties but nothing belongs to me. Not that I don't think it would be cool to transfer to a Qu culinary school of the arts or get a job with the Alexandrian army. hey I'd look hot in one of those little outfits! *laughs at the ridiculous image* Well anyway, there is little to no explanation as to how this story came about save that it was created from two major factors. The naturally rough terrain inside my own mind, and the almost physically painful love of everything related to the Black Mage people. those poor saps who always end up ground into the dust by anyone above them. and having large pointy things sent at them at high speeds. well anyway, on with the show! *adjusts the button on her shirt, reading 'Quina is a girl dammit! Can you not see?? HUH? CAN YOU??' and smiles*  
  
----  
  
.just can't sink so you might as well swim.  
  
The room looms before me,. I can't see inside. it's so dark. My feet soft on the floor, I approach. It's hard to keep moving. My legs feel shaky, weak. I hate it. I hate the feeling welling within me. Was this going to be bad? Considering master Kuja requested me specifically. yeah, it probably was. I shrug, setting my shoulders, my steps firming as I walk the last to or three steps. It's a false confidence, I know, but it's literally all I have.  
  
My hand makes the strangest sound on the doorway, the cloth of the glove making and odd scuffing rasp on the smooth, lacquered wood. It's funny, how you notice things like that when your mind is falling apart. well, that's not quite accurate, but it certainly felt that way. he-he wasn't going to put me to sleep again, was he? No, that's just silly. he just wants to talk to me. Master Kuja. Talking to a black mage. Yeah, this was gonna be bad.  
  
The air is still, close, and very cool, drifting across my face as I lean into the doorway. Feet hesitant, I pause. Kuja hates it when we come in uninvited. but then, I reflect after a moment. there's a whole lot of stuff about us that master Kuja actively hates. It confuses me. He hates us so much. but why? Why?  
  
He's staring at me. I didn't notice him at first. He hadn't moved.  
  
He lay in his chair like a reclining cat, steeped with a supine, passive power. Hands clasped pensively before him, he lay in the chair, his long, smooth perfect legs arched over the arm rest. Unmoving, unspeaking, he lay there, sitting, staring, his eyes musing and glacial.  
  
Throat. so dry. why is it so dry? I swallow, ineffectually. He's not moving. why isn't he moving? Why isn't he saying anything. am I supposed to come in? .My foot slips forward, setting gently on the floor. So far so good. step by step, I slip forward; the flimsy cloth of my shoes do nothing to stop the chill of the stones from soaking up into my feet, stinging and uncomfortable.  
  
step. nothing. step. he's not moving. step. I stop. there's nowhere to go anyway. Standing before him, I. my gaze falls. Why do I always feel this way? We're not his anymore. why do I always feel like such a lesser? My head lowers, hat falling into my eyes. I don't want to meet his vision. I don't want to.  
  
.  
  
Normally he'd say something now. He hasn't. does he want me to talk? Usually, he tells us our speech is a farce and an effrontery to him. but. but what else am I supposed to do?  
  
".Master Kuja.?"  
  
"."  
  
Hm. for once he's not the one to talk. Okay. Restraining the urge to fidget, I stand, hands tight and closed at my side.  
  
"You wanted me to come, didn't you? You asked."  
  
"."  
  
"And now you. want me to talk. I think. I. I'm sorry I feel so awkward-"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"M-huh?"  
  
"Talk. Do go on."  
  
"Um." what am I supposed to say?! Without realizing what I'm even saying, I simply talk, things just sort of slipping out. "I'm sorry master you called me here you probably want me to apologize."  
  
Kuja, unmoving, sat quietly. Fingertips kneading together, he tilted his head, gently resting his feathery platinum locks against the chair behind him. His voice is soft and reassuring, the tone one would use on a dog, or on a very stupid minion. I cringe, just a little.  
  
"I know. Let's play a little game."  
  
"A. game?"  
  
"Yes. a pleasant little game. Okay, here's how you play. pay attention now."  
  
I nod. Throat's dry again. a game?  
  
"The rules are simple. Considering the being I'm explaining it to, that's sort of a requirement. but I digress. Paying attention? Good. the game is this. I want you to tell me why I called you here."  
  
"Why. you called me here?"  
  
"Why I called you here."  
  
"But. But I don't know that."  
  
"Oh I think you do."  
  
.what do I do now? My hands. I don't know what to do with them. why would he ask me that? I don't. but I do. That's the game. he wants me to say it.  
  
".I'm sorry master Kuja."  
  
"No no." He raises a finger, waving it admonishingly. "That's not the game. You need to tell me why you're here."  
  
"I'm here. because I. I."  
  
Why is my face hot? And why does my stomach hurt in such a weird way? I don't like this game. But it's my fault. the whole thing was my fault.  
  
"I stole from you master Kuja. I was going to give it back, but that doesn't make it okay."  
  
Kuja raises a dismissing hand. "A useless trinket. It's returned to its resting place in the storage room. And I am quite sure that after the scare you got, you're never going to do something like THAT again, am I right?"  
  
I nod, eyes wide. "Oh yes master Kuja definitely yes."  
  
".then if that's not the reason. why did I call you here?"  
  
I bite my lip. What do I say? "You called me here. because. I wasn't doing my job right."  
  
"Right?"  
  
"I wasn't doing it at all."  
  
"Do go on."  
  
My gaze drifts to the floor. The soft cloth of my gloves tug gently, caught on the gilt filigree at my waist. I play with it a moment. I hate this. It's my fault I know.. I can't complain. I shouldn't complain. but it makes me feel so. bad. I speak without thinking, letting it all pour out in a rush.  
  
".I wasn't paying attention at all, I was a bad worker because I don't take this job seriously, I'm a bad person and you must hate me. but you hate me anyway so I guess that's kinda a moot point here. But I'm not doing my job right and this IS what I'm supposed to be doing what's wrong with me.?"  
  
"Why aren't you doing well in your job?"  
  
"Because I've been. been doing."  
  
"Been playing around?"  
  
".yes. I have."  
  
This must have been what he had been waiting for. He said nothing. his hand rising to beckon me forward. I came, my legs shaking weakly.  
  
"Kneel."  
  
I do so. His hand reaches for my face.  
  
Hands. cold. Unnaturally cold. his thumbs come to rest over my eyes.. I wince shut. I can't pull away. he'll punish me if I do. I hate it. I don't want to be here anymore. I wanna go home. His hands fix around the sides of my face.  
  
"A child. A young, useless child. but like a child, you must be taught with a firm hand. you are useless to me as you are. Things must be. changed."  
  
Cold. Hot. HOT! I try to pull away, a high keening whine rising in my throat. He holds me easily. My eyes, they burn, burn! Burns. it burns, burns. make it stop master Kuja. make it stop. please. steam rises from my face.  
  
He's there. He's inside me. Inside my mind. It hurts. it hurts so much.. he drifts through me, disinterested, his fingers running over my thoughts, my feelings. he smirks, his face amused. I don't know when he finds what he wants. but suddenly he pauses. And smiles. his hand. winding his fingers somewhere inside, he reaches, grasps. and squeezes..  
  
I fall back, screaming, my hands clamping to my face. Voice choking, I try to breathe. suddenly my lungs don't want to work anymore. My breath, it catches, painful in my chest.  
  
"Just like a child. Well my child, it is done."  
  
"What. what. what did you do to me.?"  
  
"You were distracted. I took that distraction away. Simple as that."  
  
"I don't. u-understand."  
  
"Why am I not surprised." His voice was snide. He rose, stepping beside me. His hand, drifting down, brushes the side of my face, knuckles smooth. His voice is mocking, mocking.  
  
"You are so silly, you know? You claim to use art to express yourself, but you don't realize, being a simple black mage, you HAVE no inner self to express. so it cannot be any great loss. I have taken whatever airs you gave yourself and have shown you the truth. Thank me." It's not a request.  
  
".thanks you master Kuja."  
  
How- how did he- My eyes widen. He had touched me, touched my mind.he had sifted through my most innermost thoughts like someone looking through my tetra master collection.  
  
"You're pathetic excuse for a talent was an inhibition, and so I removed it. Congratulations, you are now a talentless nothing. Do remember to pay a little more attention to your work."  
  
He steps past me as if I'm not there. It hasn't even sunk in yet, what he's done. he. he's. he's taken my. my..  
  
At the door, he turns. His hand lingers on the smooth surface of the door. "And yes, you can get it back. Show me that you can actually do your work like a professional and I will relinquish my hold on your mind. Don't? and. well, I don't think I really need to go on about what your life is going to be like, knowing what you once were.. You artists are so odd.. But I must be going. need to prepare for. guests."  
  
With a swish of his hips he's gone, gone from the room. My hand drags over my face. I feel like I'm asleep.  
  
Maybe I am asleep. Pulling myself up, I brush off my robes, glancing around me. my head hurts. a bit disoriented, I shake my head. THAT only makes it worse. What am I doing here? Maybe I wandered in here and fell asleep. I nod, hesitant. That's probably likely.  
  
yeah. I fell asleep. Some strange dream, that's all it was. The stones around me seem to mock me with their silence as I walk forward, through the doorway. Master Kuja is nowhere to be found. somehow, that makes me feel better. I idly raise my hand as I walk. A warmth flickers, burgeoning between my fingers, gentle blossoms of flame. a cat. I love making little fire cats. Watching them play across my hands, slipping across the floor, little licking balls of flame that seem to slink and purr just like a real kitty. the flames rise, roiling softly, just so. there.. The flames sputter, growing. leaping up.. And back down onto my glove. What th- OW! OWOWOWOWOWOWWW!!!!!  
  
The flame dies with a strange popping sound as I leap and cry, waving my hand like a young kid with a splinter, my eyes watering. Oh god it hurts it hurts hurts hurts. the glove, sooty and dark, steams gently as I bring my aching hand before my face. what had happened? I had it perfectly under control. didn't I?  
  
It had been a dream. Master Kuja couldn't do something like that. he couldn't. do.. something like... that.  
  
My burned hand offers no answers.  
  
-  
  
"56?"  
  
He turns, glancing back behind him, his eyes light as he turns towards me. "Hmm?" The bloodstone in his hand seems to drink in as much light as his face does as he pauses in the hallway. The stairs behind him seem to drift into obscurity. I ignore it, ignore the soft, luxurious carpet under my feet and the awe inspiring, eerie beauty of the statuary before me. Number 56 stared at me for a moment, the rag limp in his hands. The peculiar smell of the polishing oil stung in my throat, but my mind was far from the odors around me.  
  
"123."  
  
His voice pulls me from my musing thoughts. I turn towards him. ".yeah?"  
  
"What's wrong 123? You seem. disturbed."  
  
"Nothing." I've never been good at lying. He's not convinced, his expression concerned. and admonishing. His hand leaves a small smear of the cleansing oil upon my coat as he seizes me. A bit surprised, I blink faintly, leaning back. His hand, tight to my jacket, suddenly gives a fierce tug. I almost stumble, my hand moving to my hat, steadying it upon my head as I look at him in confusion.  
  
"Don't give me that, you're worse than 288 when it comes to talking about your problems- you'd better cough it up you here me or so help me I'll shake you until you can't stand up GET ME?"  
  
I try to nod, my head deciding to interpret the signals a little differently, resulting in an odd little wobble. "Okay 56. okay."  
  
"Now. What's wrong.?" Turning me, he sits me down, gently easing me onto the middle of the walkway. The thick, lush carpeting seems to caress me as I sink down onto it. He stares at me, awaiting my words.. What do I tell him? this was a mistake. I should have just been quiet. I was always doing that. When I got in trouble or got hurt I'd just turn to my nearest brother and collapse on him, crying and blubbering like some stupid little kid. I never considered how THEY felt, how it made them feel bad. I'm so stupid. I need to go. I need to get out of here.  
  
56 eyes me suspiciously as I rise. His hand moves forward, clamping to the soft, violet cloth of my coat. I try to move away. He doesn't relinquish for a second, his eyes burning an odd, almost orange hue. "I knew you'd do that. Always running off to mope in a corner. Not today brother, not today. You can't run from things, they only get bigger. Understand? Tell me what's wrong." It was almost an order. I quailed a little, leaning back.  
  
"I- I'm. sorry."  
  
He sighs softly. Suddenly, his arms are around me, his chest warm as he sinks me to him, pressing me to his shoulder. The comfort seeps through my clothing, through the fog of what had. happened.  
  
"Let go. Tell me.. You know you need to."  
  
He smells like cinnamon and magic. I lean into the warm plushess of his chest, leaning against him. He pulls me into his lap, a little brother. considering I was probably constructed a month or two after him, it's an accurate assumption and he supports my weight easily as I rest my head on his shoulder. How am I going to tell him what had happened? It was my fault. it was all my fault. Master Kuja might be a bad bad person, he might have originally made us and killed a lot of innocent people, but he was. he was totally justified in what he did to me. He violated the sanctity of my mind and buried my soul, and he had every right to do so. I'm surprised he didn't kill me.  
  
"Spill it."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"You need to."  
  
"."  
  
His hand is warm against the back of my neck, gently caressing. and he pauses. His fingers trace a slightly roughened patch, moving gently over the invisible burn.  
  
"What.. What has he done to you?"  
  
"Nothing I didn't deserve."  
  
He actually hits me then. Not too hard. I can't think, I don't think. I push against him, striking him myself. He grunts a little. I am not strong. I don't care! He can't understand! How dare he assume I'm just being hysterical? He can't understand. He can't understand! A strange sound enters my ears; it's my own voice, high, hysterical and hurt, having been speaking for several seconds before I even realized what I was doing. "It's my fault it's my fault! I have no right to say anything I'm a bad bad person I wasn't paying any attention I wasn't doing my job! I was just sitting back expecting payment for no work done I was cheating I was so bad I feel so horrible how can I blame Kuja for anything it was my fault oh 56 HE REACHED INTO MY MIND AND TOOK THE ONLY PART OF ME THAT MATTERED AWAY AND IT"S ALL MY FAULT!!!" My hands lock in a deathgrip behind him as I shiver, gripped in the muscular spasms of my own suppressed sobbing. Weeping is for victims. I no longer count. This was my punishment and I had NO right to lament my own fate.  
  
"Kuja said it wouldn't be permanent. I'm so.. So very surprised, that he was that lenient. He could have fired me, booted me into the desert to try to find my own way home. probably gotten scythed in half in an antlion's jaws.. I wish I hadn't done anything wrong. Then master Kuja would have been wrong and I could have cried and snuggled the pain away."  
  
56 was silent. What was he supposed to say? He was thinking. his fingers gently drifted over my coat. "So we'll work it off."  
  
.? I turn to him. He had begun talking unexpectedly, catching me off guard. "what?"  
  
"It's a punishment right? So we work it off and get it revoked and then everything's okay again.. Right?"  
  
I nod, my face against the soft cloth. Yeah, he's right. 56 might not always be heralded as the wisest of our brothers but sometimes he was an absolute savant. I love him so much. hugging onto him, I lean into his warmth, my eyes closing. "thanks. so much."  
  
"Hey hey what are brothers for? You're my friend 123. you were with me when. 36. s-stopped."  
  
My hands tighten around him. As much as 56 and I were together, as close as we were. it simply pales in comparison to 56 and 36's relationship. They had awakened together on the battlefield. Bonding in the terror and chaos of the moment, they had hidden, living only by their wits, their legs and their connection with each other. they had come to the village together, arm in arm, stumbling, half starved and feverish. They had been soulmates; they knew what each other were thinking. they would finish each other's statements, then laugh that pure laugh of delight. They had been meant for each other.  
  
Then, one day, out in the forest, 36 collapsed. He was making small noises. They had been almost a mile out. 56 had carried him home on his back. Everyone was worried. had he been poisoned? Had he been wounded? But no. he was turning gray and his eyes were fading, and he kept whimpering about needing to go to sleep. 56 had been beside himself with panic. It was almost exactly at midnight when 36 finally. stopped. He was leaning up, talking to 56 and 288, when suddenly. he just. stopped. His words cut off, and his eyes. they were a bright white. They just suddenly changed. from yellow, to orange. From orange to a deep, disturbing brown. and then they were gone. Just like him. He fell over like a broken puppet.. And never moved again. It had taken three days of constant vigilance by a good fifth of the village to keep 56 from taking his own life.  
  
He was never quite the same. Oh yeah, he laughed light and warm, his eyes danced and his hugs and grip was still as tender and warming. but then, he'd remember his friend. it seemed like 36 had taken a little bit of 56 with him to the grave.his eyes would go so pale and he'd just. shut down for a good minute or so. Then, for the rest of the day, he'd be soft spoken and often go off on his own, speaking to himself.  
  
Not to himself, I had come to realize. He was talking to 36. Like he was right there, going on about what he was doing and how beautiful the sun was shining through the leaves. and then it would happen. He'd look around bewildered.. And then start crying. He had learned to hide it well, placing a hand over his face and slipping into the nearest shadow.but I usually saw it. I couldn't help him. I had tried. but he would just go dead, turning internal. I want to help him. I want to help him so much.. but. but I can't. Nothing can. The other half of his soul died.. It hurts me to think of what that must feel like.  
  
He snaps me back into the present reality with a gentle hand grinding against my ribs. "Tell me what happened."  
  
I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding, simply resting against him. "Kuja said I was misusing my talent so he locked it up until I got better."  
  
56 pauses, unsure of how to respond to something like that. and simply shrugs. Not coldly, not apathetically.. but lost, unsure of how to respond.  
  
I just lean into him.  
  
-  
  
".Cute, but unproductive."  
  
"Have a few gemstones to polish, I believe you do?"  
  
56 remained sitting, looking up slowly from his reclining position, his brother held in his arms. He blinks slowly, his eyes half lidded and lazy, disinterested as he gazes upon the two jesters that had moved up behind him. His hand, on the back of 123's neck, holds him in place, silently prompting him to remain still. Laboriously, he gains his feet, his eyes a strange color as he regards the two small, gaily hued figures, brother in his arms, hands around his neck.  
  
Zorn's eyes narrow. He was NOT in a good mood today. Casually noting the gaze in the mage's eyes, he silently shakes his head. This big bastard was going to be a problem. Good, he gritted his teeth. He needed a little confrontation.  
  
56 just stared, unmoving, a stone in a turbulent sea. I shivered a little, closing my eyes. I had to protect him it was me they were angry about. his hand stilled me wordlessly, and I quieted, listening, my eyes wide and my face pressed to the soothing warmth. My hands wind in his coat. oh please let this turn out right.  
  
Thorn blinks softly, nervously playing with one of the bells on his hat. His twin was being so combative lately. Shaking his head, he eased back, leaning against the looming statue of some sort of. he didn't even want to think of what. Mater Kuja's taste in sculpture differed greatly from the historical statuary of Alexandria. some of it was downright morbid. his attention was momentarily pulled to the gaze of the mage. and he simply shrugs. Zorn wasn't his problem. he just had to live with him. every second of his life. he groaned, staring at the rather ghastly statue.  
  
56 remains quiet for few brief seconds. His gaze is tired. ".matters of the family." Turning away, he places his back to the two figures, his voice weary.  
  
Zorn's eyes seem almost to burn, alive with hate as he glares daggers at the wide, dusty plum hued back.  
  
I press myself to my brother, my eyes closed. before opening, a soft tinkling sounding before me. I open hesitantly, gazing down.  
  
Zorn, awkward and confused, looks back at his brother in affront, the other's red and white clad arms clasped around his brother's scrawny neck. Not in a strangling or garroting gesture, but more in a silent supplication. He appears to be saying something, something soft and hurried. Zorn pauses. .looking annoyed, disgruntled. but nods, reluctantly. Pulling away, he shoots 56 a look of pure poison. before turning in place and striding purposefully away.  
  
56 shakes his head, turning away from them. before glancing down.  
  
Thorn's hand on his coat, tugging, he looks up into the yellow eyes. His voice is gruff. "Understand matters of the family we do. only to well we do. rough and unfriendly he seems but a side hidden he has. hard to see. Hate him not okay?" Thorn turns to look at his retreating brother. "Need to go now I do! Keep up your work you will here me?" Nodding to himself for having thrown the scold on the end, he hurries off, his arms swinging and his bells setting up a jangling clangor.  
  
56 just blinks, confused.. What. was that about? Not knowing, he bends, gently setting his brother on his feet.  
  
Supporting the B on his broad shoulder, he moves off, whispering small bits of comfort and encouragement to the smaller, frailer mage as they make their way to their resting room for the night.  
  
-  
  
Four down, who knows how many to go. ahh well. Don't worry kiddos. Things will cheer up soon, as soon as the mages get out from under Kuja's not so kind eyes. Maybe a few more chapters. .. but anyway, read and respond, even if it's flames. MSTings. I dun care. I just need it baby! It is the artists sacred payment, is hearing that people read this schlepp at all. *bows* and remember, say it once, say it twice, third time's a charm! Sad Mudokon! Send me a letter, send me a word, send me a deadly virus that strips my com. oh wait, not that last one.  
  
Oh, and look for me in ayenee (yahoo chat's arts and entertainment user rooms for those ignorant mortals) peel yer ganders for the_amber_eyed_artificer .I eagerly await another black mage! Any black mage! A Kuja? One of the Qu or even a tapir person. anything! Or just someone to say hi to. *gasps and dies* .water. rollplay.. Urp.  
  
*bows* My friend got me a vivi plushie! WHEE!! 


	5. Concession

Never Deal with a Dragon  
  
Disclaimer: okay easy disclaimer. Everything belongs to their respective parties but nothing belongs to me. Not that it wouldn't be sw33t to have a pet mage. Sweet little thing running around starting fires. erm. maybe not? *sweatdrops* Well anyway, there is little to no explanation as to how this story came about save that it was created from two major factors. The naturally rough terrain inside my own mind, and the almost physically painful love of everything related to the Black Mage people-  
  
New characters soon, new situations! Whee hee!! *does the happy servbot dance* Ya Ya, babu! *proudly adjusts her "Walking Violation of the Vivi Protection Society" Pin, holding up a rocket launcher and a very scared looking vivi plush* heh.  
  
-----  
  
  
  
56 raised his head as he entered, shouldering open the door, careful to avoid smacking me in the head. Considering the raging migraine clawing it's way through my brain, I appreciated the gesture. I shifted in the warm sanctity of his arms, my fingers lingering over the sleeve of his coat, gaining comfort from the soft material. He murmured a little to me, illegible and soothing, straightening to give me a better view of the room.  
  
Amber eyes met mine, a good handful of them. Seated in a circle, the other mages, spanning the three casts, blinked with dim honey gazes from within the darkness beneath their hats. I felt 56's arm shift below me, moving forward to easily support my back as his other arm lifted from my shoulder a little, rising in greeting to our brothers kneeling on the floor before us. I also raised my hand, hesitantly I admit, a bit shaken up by everything.  
  
Seeing me, a rather distinctive form rises from his position, moving forward with a surprised, exultant sound. A very distinct form considering he utterly dwarfed the rest of us in height and girth. A type A that rivaled even the largest Cs.  
  
I smile warmly as 56's arm moves back around me, and the other figure approaching us gently lays one large, soft hand on my shoulder. Number 44's smile is welcoming.  
  
"Oh gods 123, you're back. I was so worried."  
  
"We all were..." The voice drifts from the crowd, the deepened voice of a type C echoing from the room. It is a small space, metal and warm. Sand, drifting down from above lays in a thin, irritating layer we resolutely avoid. This is where we are allowed to stay when off duty. the cells. It's not that bad really. The sand can simply be swept away with a hand, to the middle of the floor, that tiny circle that everyone avoids. The magma, unseen beneath the floor, renders the whole room a warm and comforting affair, but the small, single flue at the exact center of the room must be avoided at all costs lest it singe flesh or clothing. Poor 44 still had that scar on his leg, an unpleasant gray amidst the inky black.  
  
I feel 56 shift a little and I cling, not wanting to leave the caring embrace. He hums gently to me, easing me down to my feet, holding me for the expected, customary stumble. I lean into him, my face to his chest, simply breathing in the sulfur smell of the air and the warmth of his coat, smelling of cinnamon and magic.  
  
Hands find me then, a warm, aiding touch. 44's eyes are kind as he guides me away from my brother, towards the group. I lean heavily, still unsteady. maybe it's the air. Sometimes the fumes from the lava can be awful.  
  
The others look okay as I approach them however, unaffected by chemical or fumes, their expressions amiable. They watch silently, smiling, as 44 eases me towards the group, towards the gap he had just vacated upon rising to greet 56 and I. I blink blearily, rubbing at a sore eye as a drift of sand comes down, tinkling off my hat.  
  
The others move aside, shifting to give us room as we step up to our positions. A similar activity is happening from across the group for 56. A shuffling sound is heard from the floor as the mages around us scrabble about with sand flecked gloves, and I glance down, curious. The tetra master tetrad is laid out, the game almost finished. A few rocks and pebbles litter the ground, blocking markers. The dice sit, half tilted from the odd, segmented floor. Number 32 gently collects the cards, carefully checking the protective sheathes for any potentially invading sand grains that could mar the perfect, pristine surfaces. It was a surprise really; most type A's weren't overly careful about the state of their cards, most of the cards ending up taking on a faint scraping to the corners, a worn, used and familiar look that marked a well loved hand. But 32 took his gaming seriously, keeping his cards in utterly mint condition. He had traded a very elaborate synthed bracelet he had made himself for a gross box of 500 of the clear, magically transparent oilcloth sheaths. It left no stain upon the cards and sat like flexible, yet stiff glass, a miracle to any serious card player. It had taken quite a lot of wheedling, favors and mooching to get even the sheathes for the six hands I regularly played, much less 35's entire collection all meticulously protected.  
  
I pause, raising a hand to feel at my chest. There, square and comfortable, sits my deck, warmed by my skin, tucked into the little pocket I had laboriously sewn into my own coat. All my (good) playing cards, all thirty, from my magic slasher hand to the unexpected drop hand, to that miracle combo hand I had never, ever managed to pull off. I pull it free, gently unwrapping the length of twine holding it together, letting the string drop as I splay the cards, glancing over each familiar surface. One of the things I had noticed was that my brothers and I all tended to gravitate towards magic class cards. Not surprising considering what we were.  
  
Shuffling through the cards, I tuck one between two fingers of my left hand, tsking to myself. They'd gotten out of order again. Had I let it go too long? Maybe I needed to buy a box like 32.  
  
32's smile is wry as he watches me, his eyes intent. I hold my cards to me, smiling humoringly as I begin to sift through the cards, separating the hands to their respective decks. His chuckle is genuine as he leans back, allowing me my room. I laugh. It's not as if we hadn't handled each other's cards a million times, but sometimes it was fun to pretend we were all major tetra master players in a big city somewhere. I pause at the thought, my eyes going out of focus. yeah. Like that would ever happen. a black mage in a big city? Mob fodder, proposed card game or no. Unwittingly drifting off, I pause, eyes staring unseeingly at the cards in my hand.  
  
"123?"  
  
Startled, I look up. 32 eyes me suspiciously, busily arranging the various five card decks in his hands. He scowls briefly, his eyes acquiring a dangerous cant as he shakes his prized perfect X ironite under my nose. "You're thinking of bad things again. Cut it out. This is official social break time- you know the rules."  
  
Smiling softly to myself, I nod, reciting in a soft voice to myself the words we had so recently come to know all too well among ourselves. "One rule, only rule. Relaxation is relaxation, peace is peace. Leave your troubles for work, now is a time for love and trust, rest and comfort." I nod softly, silent and somber.  
  
The ironite card bounces off my hat's rim, flashing in the air to land in my collar. Blinking in startlement, one gloved hand hovers over my chest, gently probing at the sharp edged object now resting against my throat. Befuddled by the whole affair, I glance sourly at him, favoring 32 with a mock dour look, carefully extracting the card. The oilcloth gives a small gleam as I hold it up between index and second fingers, turning it so it catches the light. My eyes are mischievous as I wave it in front of him, languidly brandishing it with little flourishes before his face. "Why thank you 32. I always wanted this card."  
  
He makes a lunge for it with an indignant squawk, hands catching me by the coat before I can skip away. Fingers winding, he heaves, dragging me closer. I laugh as I lean back, nearly falling over, holding the card just out of his reach. Being a type A, his physical strength is greater than my own and I laugh as he pretty much crushes me in a rather unexpected bear hug. I don't resist, choking on my giggles as he grabs my wrist, gently removing the card and twittering to it in worried care like some ridiculous, puffy purple bird. On my back, I look up, eyes slitted with laughter as he places a foot on my chest, waving the card admonishingly in front of my face as he looms over me like an angry mother griffon.  
  
"123, you know the only way you'd ever get your hands on this card is if you won it, and the only way that'll happen is if I played with nothing but arrowless goblin cards with a BLINDFOLD on!!" He looked so serious, I couldn't help it. My hands slip up, gently caressing against an ankle as I ease onto one side slightly, wiggling just enough.  
  
Giving the oddest bleat of surprise he stumbles, arms windmilling helplessly as he abruptly lurches forward, feet suddenly catching a patch of sand and snapping out and back. He falls heavily- directly onto me, crushing me beneath him as he lands... Now, black mages weigh remarkably little, but he still drove the air from my lungs as he lands, his eyes going brown and slitted for a moment. I lay there, stunned, blinking away my own momentary disorientation. half delirious, I see the opportunity, my hands drift under his coat.  
  
".?? -!!! Ah NO NO not that eek ack AHH!!" He writhes against me, his eyes closed as he tries to struggle free, pushing at me, trying in vain to roll off. I hold him, hands beneath his coat and fingers tickling at sensitive sides, trailing under the arms and at the neck, beneath the collar. Mr. No Problems? Fine! We'd see who could take it.  
  
44 merely coughs softly beside me, purposefully tapping his cards to the floor as I look up, holding a now nearly crying 32 to my chest. "You in the game?"  
  
I look up to a very purple faced 32, who merely thumps me in the forehead and nods slightly, giving me a very clear 'oh I'm going to get you later' look and pushes himself up, breath labored, looking more than a bit embarrassed. I laugh as I ease myself to a sitting position, scooting into my place, sweeping sand from my sides and back as I take up my hand, carefully selecting one of the five card hands and slipping the rest back in their dark hiding place against my skin. 44 says nothing, merely giving me a long suffering look as he brushes the sand I had missed from my back.  
  
His hand lingers; a comforting squeeze. I nod silently, thankful for the silent support.  
  
Which deck? I look over my cards, sifting slowly, evaluating the numerics as best I could without the required dice. Browsing through my cards, I don't glance up as I ask "So, what are we playing?"  
  
44 shuffles through his own cards, carefully evaluating each with an intense scrutiny he usually only reserves for cooking. "Eight part quad drop. Double take rule."  
  
Yeek. eight players, four dropping cards at a time on a fifty-by-fifty grid. Lucky it was the double take rule. a perfect, unlikely as it sounded, would kill seven people's decks in one go. Considering how many of us there were, there'd be two games going on simultaneously. Oh I loved tetra master.  
  
"So you in?"  
  
I nod vigorously. My power hitter deck was best used in the big multiplayer games. I pulled it free, gazing warmly at my own prize card. It might not be an X card, it might not have a full compliment of arrows, but my troll had a plus four bonus to attack AND it had achieved a P status. Something that had taken a good three weeks of daily play to do. I smile, nodding and tapping the base of my cards to the ground, the signal that I was ready.  
  
"So. what happened while I was gone?" I try to sound casual, and few look up from their first musing contemplation of the board. A random roll assigns pebbles to the extra ten spaces, and everyone begins to roll for order. 44 shrugs, looking over his cards. "Not much, the jester twins getting on everyone's cases. but I guess that's understandable. Kuja's been in a real bustle about something or other. but, of course, he's not volunteering information."  
  
I snort softly. That was most certainly an understatement. The only thing Kuja was good for was one of those calm, scary temper tantrums that he managed to deliver so well. Reaching under my coat, I rub sand from my side, gently sweeping gloved fingers against my skin, letting the little clinging annoying grains fall free. This blasted sand got everywhere. into the food, into your bed and into your eye when you slept. And, being in a desert, Kuja never let us bathe. thank whatever power governs this place that black mages don't sweat. but my coat was getting awfully dusty.  
  
The dice are passed, falling into my open palm. I look down at it, a simple pyramidal four-sided affair carved of bluish stone. Those that rolled a one or two would go first, the others after. Okay, I nodded to myself, dropping the dice to the metal. A three. Later group then. I carefully gather the dice and slip them into 44's open, waiting palm, giving him a warm smile as my fingers give his a squeeze.  
  
The secondary dice fall beside me, typical six siders of a faintly dirty white. I look over as 44 curses silently. He had to go first, poor guy. First goers often lost, it was a sad and simple fact. He sighs, shaking his head and tugs his hat down a bit over his eyes as he gathers the dice, pressing them into my hand and giving me a good luck look. I weigh them pensively. A high number would be nice. A five. good enough.  
  
The dice are passed around, from person to person. I stare, disinterested; the big games were interesting but the setup was always such a drag. Idly drawing in a drift of sand, I trace intricate, meaningless patterns, my ears full of the warm muttering of my people and the slow clatter of dice.  
  
44, the first one, glances around the group once, his eyes slitted faintly and, slipping a card from his hand, he gently lays it into a corner of the board.  
  
.A very well protected corner. It was one of his tougher zaghnols as well.  
  
Another mage gently removes a card from his hand. Oddly enough, it's a frog. I stare for a bit. When did he get that? He sets it in another corner, a bristling barrier of arrows. not remarkably strong but it's odd just how many surprises this game could cough up. It's still a while to my turn, even considering how fast this game went and I smile softly as I lean over, snuggling against 44's plush side. I gently encircle his waist with an outstretched arm, feeling his own fall behind me as he waits for his turn to come up once again.  
  
A few more, here and there. I lose interest; 288 had always lovingly called me one without a long attention span. and I find my thoughts drifting. I wonder what guests Kuja was talking about. who could he be expecting? Miss Hilda was around here somewhere, though I hadn't ever seen her. that was the only other person I knew of that he knew. unless he's speaking of the ugly lady he was always talking to, but I haven't seen her recently.  
  
" Hellooo. 123? Gaia to 123, come in 123. Hey buddy, it's your turn." I look up, startled. They're all staring at me, waiting expectantly, a dozen warm glows all fixed on my face. a warmth rising to taint my cheeks a purplish blue, I turn back to my cards, glancing through the five card deck before me, carefully shifting cards. A good amount of arrows, but better start small. I pull my weakest creature free, looking it over appraisingly. A zaghnol, like 44's, save for a few more arrows. I gently place it down, next to 35's infamous ironite card.  
  
I hardly even need to check the dice, but roll anyway. A loss, like that wasn't expected considering the power and rank of that monster card. The card is flipped, the '32' marker dropped atop the card as 32 leans back with a self satisfied purr and the game continues.  
  
Cards are dropped, small murmurs of success or failure drift through the air. .What was master Kuja talking about? Who would be coming here? I don't know. it worries me. Master Kuja isn't the most gracious of hosts. looking at the way he treats us and we're officially working for him. I know we shouldn't be here but. why is he like that? Why does he hate us so much. He's a bad man. I understand that, but. what pain lurks there? I don't want to help him or anything. maybe I just want to understand. oops, my turn again.  
  
I glance up as the card drops. Whoa. The entire board now shone with '32' markers. 32 had made nearly a clean sweep! Impressed, I glance over the cards spread before me, the intricate grid of card and pebble, each card immediately identifiable of it's owner by many a well loved game crouched in the sun drenched grass, leaning back and simply drinking in the game and the company of the ones we love... Selecting a card, I hold it up briefly, letting it drop. Another loss. I shrug, returning to my thoughts, easing against my brother once again . my eyes drift closed a little as I settle to wait, grateful for his ample, comforting presence.  
  
I feel 44's hand slip around my waist, gently hugging me. I lean against him, glad for the warmth and comfort, propping my chin on his shoulder and snuggle. He turns, nuzzling me briefly, before turning back to the game. "Pull your mind back to the game 123 or you'll lose all your cards. 32's on a roll." I nod, trying to concentrate. what's wrong with me? Usually I eat up the opportunity to get a good game out of 32. but my mind feels like jelly right now. is it a side effect of the. alteration? Or just a raging headache. I merely lay against my brother, hands idly trailing little designs against his lower back.  
  
32's words, snide and triumphant echo from the other side of the room. "Last round, your turn bro." I look up, meeting his preemptively triumphant gaze . Nodding faintly, I hold my last card, gently laying it beside one of my older cards, and grab a double handful of dice. Dropping them anticlimactically, I lean back, one hand idly digging faint furrows in the sifted sand beside me as they land, falling face up before me. I sigh. Win. Finally. Turning, I reach to the card's nearest neighbor, my old Zaghnol and flip, placing one of the tiny obsidian chips I use for markers on the card, gently sweeping away 32's. and blink, turning 32's ironite. And the dryad next to it- AND 44's cactuar. and the mimic next to that and. well. obsidian chips littered the area before us, each claiming a card. I blink slowly, hands hovering over the cards, gently checking for any others. another flip. no- that one's in a corner all by itself. another flip.  
  
The assembled mages slowly lean back with a whistle, the board covered with little black glass chips. 32 stares, his face deadpan and shocked, tilting his head as he goes over the move over and over again. I blink, gently rubbing the sand from my palm. Well now. THAT hadn't ever happened before. 44 lets out a low whistle. ".whoo. Congratulations 123. that was, well, scary."  
  
32's voice is oddly strained, his eyes an odd shade of straw gold as he leans back, waving a dismissive hand. "Happens sometimes. You won. Pick your card 123."  
  
Sitting hunched and slumped over, I stare dully over the cards, not really seeing them, my gaze lost. Oh damn. I hate this part. Sighing, I lean back, gently running a hand over my face. the playing was the fun part, but what happens if you won? I usually lose, usually because I like to play 32. He's so enthusiastic about it, but he has such good cards. and I won against him, against nearly everybody. He'd get the card back eventually, but. I don't like taking things from people, even if it's in the rules. 32 watches expectantly, his eyes intent on mine. I also know the rules, I reflect as I gently pick up his prize ironite. No ZS choices. You had to get the card you want- anything else is an insult. Tucking it into my hand, I smile. 32 would have it back, next game or the one after that. Nothing to worry about really.  
  
32's eyes are shrewd as he nods. I smile softly, feeling as if I had passed some sort of test, and in my own way I had. It's a sign of honor to have a good card taken, and won back. I had won my troll back from 32 roughly six times so far, and three of those times it had come back stronger simply by changing hands. Retrieving the die, I cast, hoping. and pause. A ninety eight.  
  
"32?"  
  
"mm?"  
  
"Congratulations. Now plus five to attack! Your ironite is amazing!" I grin, my smile mirrored on his face as he waves a finger at me.  
  
"Yours- for now! I'm going to play you into the ground till I get him back, so keep him mint for me okay?"  
  
I nod happily, reaching forth to gather the little obsidian nodules. They had been in one of the conde piete trading crates, in a little bag, and I had managed to win them from the group of us who had unloaded the crate. I loved the way they felt, sand smoothed and tiny in my palm. I slipped them back in the bag, the bag back in its resting place in my coat and leaned back, a bit surprised at the results of the day. I never won against 32. how amazing.  
  
44, hands drifting over the board after his cards turns to me, leaning back onto an elbow to ease beside me. He holds up my cards for a moment, saying softly. ".you still seem a bit depressed my brother. here." His hand brushes my chest as he places the cards home, removing his hand and patting me comfortingly. I smile reassuringly, my hand finding his. "Long day, that's all. I'll be okay. I always feel better being around you guys."  
  
44 laughs, turning to nuzzle the side of my face with a low hum. "That's because we love you silly. You're our brother."  
  
"Cute."  
  
"But, unfortunately in the way you all are. clear out it is time. come on. Shoo."  
  
How do they always manage to do that? Twisting, I look back, upside down. and blink. Zorn, a little too close for comfort, scowls down at me- and considering who'se scowling that's a considerably fearsome sight. One long nailed, bony finger finds my forehead in a disparaging poke and I wince, arms sliding out from under me as I fall to my back. 44 looks behind him as Thorn slips up, elbowing him between the shoulderblades and throwing up his withered hands. "Come on, clear out all of you must! Expecting visitors any minute master Kuja is- be here you must not be! Come come."  
  
Collecting cards, my brothers rise, nodding differentially to the two small jesters and begin to shuffle towards the door. Zorn pauses, looking the place over.  
  
"You, you and you." Pointing, he snaps his hand to the floor. "Get this blasted sand out of here, the master won't appreciate a bad first impression of his home, move it!"  
  
I blink as I nod, moving forward and kneeling with a couple of my brothers to gather the sand with questing palms. it hisses as I brush it into the flue, nearly burning myself. I turn, catching drifts and working quickly at my task. 44 is bent beside me, working as well. I glance up as 192 eases down to his knees with a grunt, his hand gently pressed to the sweep of thigh beneath the cloth of coat and pants. For some reason his knees were always hurting him. I never knew why. He hated kneeling. Glancing up, he nods to me and I continue my work.  
  
Zorn taps a foot impatiently as Zorn ducks among the mages, carefully explaining the exact tasks and positions Kuja wanted them to be in when the time arrived, whatever that was. Pushing the last of the sand into the hole, I ease upwards on my knees, turning to the red clad jester a few inches away. "Sir Thorn. what are we supposed to do?"  
  
He turns, hat jangling and eyes appraising. "You? You? Guard the cells you three will, watching over them. Understand you do? Mm?"  
  
I blink a little. Watch the cells? That's where the master's 'guests' would be? Flabbergasted, I nod, rising to my feet. My brothers give us a brief look before leaving, gently wiping sand from coats and pants as they go. As we near the door, Zorn turns. pausing, Thorn halts for his other.  
  
"Understand this. Those that come here far exceed your worth. So do as you are told and everything will be okay. Don't. and no amount of phoenix down will pull you from where master Kuja sends you. understand?"  
  
192 scowls slightly, his eyes narrow. I glance at him, worried. 192 was an edgy sort. was he going to make trouble. But he merely shrugs "Whatever." Turning, he moves to the door, slips through and away. Nodding to Thorn, 44 and I exchange a brief look before slipping out the door. Other mages emerge from the cells, having finished their cleaning jobs and move off swiftly, taking up positions here and there within Kuja's home. I watch them go, gently easing myself against the wall beside one of the cells and settle to wait.  
  
After a moment, 192 turns slightly, his voice low "Who do you think it is?"  
  
"I don't-"  
  
"QUIET." Zorn shakes a hand as he walks away, taking his brighter jester twin with him as the two of them shuffle away, bells bobbling. Well, looks like nothing but another long wait. I sigh, letting my hat fall forward a little over my eyes.  
  
-  
  
I blink. How long had I been out? I look over to 44. he's staring off into space, the perfect image of a black mage. How he had ever mastered the art of sleeping with his eyes open I never knew. 192. I blink. 192 was leaning against the wall, his face pressed to the metal.  
  
".193. what are you doing?"  
  
"Shh!" he hisses, leaning over to me. "Listen. you can hear the sand sifter starting up. I think our 'guests' might be arriving shortly.  
  
Hating the cold metal, I press my head to the wall, listening intently. and hear it. The whirr, the grating crunch. The machine humms. the sound increasing.  
  
I reel back as the alarm blares forth for a single moment, lighting the area and producing a horrible sound. as the sand shifter turns on above us. The filter ungodly loud, it pulls free the sand, the door in the ceiling of the hidden room behind me suddenly opening.  
  
Thump. The sound of a body hitting home pulls a wince from me as I glance at the door, at the slit just a little too high for convenience. 192 looks at me curiously, another sound of the ceiling opening happening right behind him.  
  
He jumps back as the loud clamor of steel clashes from the room behind him. Falling against the railing, he suddenly spits out a curse I didn't really understand, much to my relief and confusion. A deep groan eminating from the room, he pauses, lifting himself up to glance inside.  
  
"It's. a man. A person. and a big one. He's wearing some serious armor. Must've been a bitch to land in, and he's got a wicked sword on his back. what's yours?"  
  
I look up at the slit. "Can't get there. maybe if I stretch." My hands find the slit, tense as I pull myself upwards, just a half an inch short and spitting some words that aren't too nice. Straining, I pause, glancing up, up, over. and stare, eyes wide.  
  
He lay there, lay as one dead, utterly, frighteningly still, his long, floppy hat fallen over his eyes. Arms limp at his sides, he simply. lays there. I stare, silently praying for some groan, some movement, something to still my suddenly beating heart. his face was to me, his eyes closed. He was so still.  
  
"Who is it 123?"  
  
I gently ease from the door, falling back on numb legs. "I-it's. it's m- master Vivi."  
  
192 stares. "Master Vivi?? Is he okay?"  
  
I shake my head. He certainly didn't look okay, he looked small and helpless. Recalling myself, I turn to my brother. "He was still. I think he must've gotten knocked cold or something. I-I hope he's okay."  
  
192 nods, his eyes pale. "I-if master Vivi is here. these cells. must contain his travelling companions. A-are these. the guests master Kuja was talking about? Wh-what is he planning now." Shaking his head, 192 leans back against the cells, tugging his hat down over his eyes and wrapping his arms around himself. I watch him silently. Master Vivi was here. He was trapped. And there's nothing I can do about it. Please, please if there's anything good or important in this world, please let master Vivi be okay.  
  
  
  
and so chapter five ends. Originally I wanted to make the end scene completely different. 123 was going to have a long conversation with vivi, learning about his past life with his grampa and in turn revealing his own lost friend who was murdered before he ever got to the black mage village. Unfortunately I realized that not only plot wise could this conversation not happen, but that it would piss Kuja off so much he'd probably atomize the poor guy on the spot- you saw how he reacted to the lil guy just looking in on poor lil vivi. so I guess we'll have to learn about 123's lost friend later on.. hmm. must plan out next chapter. Lotsa stuff a happenin. Then soon. new characters and new situations! Whoo hoo! *resists the urge for a second happy servbot dance* hehe. 


	6. Conflict

Never Deal with a Dragon.  
  
Chapter 6  
  
-  
  
Disclaimer: okay easy disclaimer. Everything belongs to their respective parties but nothing belongs to me, although I'd love to get Zorn and Thorn as entertainment for my next birthday party. err, as long as there wasn't any kiddies around. Or alcohol. But I'd say, inviting a lot of adults over to watch those two bicker and call each other vile names would be funny neh? Well anyway, there is little to no explanation as to how this story came about save that it was created from two major factors. The naturally rough terrain inside my own mind, and the almost physically painful love of everything related to the Black Mage people. Oh. And you might be wondering, as you read this, 'why the heck is 193 so angsty and mean? Why the heck is he such a foul mouthed, touchy, overly sensitive reclusive miserable bastard of a mage?' Well, I don't think I could tell you this without boosting the R rating up a bit. I am trying to keep this a bit clean. which should give you a hint to what happened to the poor guy to scar him so badly. but look for a possible side chapter somewhere in the future.  
  
-  
  
  
  
"I can't believe we have to just. SIT HERE!!"  
  
The walls shook a bit. Again. I just sighed, leaning back against the wall, my eyes closing as I tried to bury my face in the biological taxonomy chart of the book in my hands, trying to ignore the general tension of the air and the form of my brother throwing his fifth punch into the wall beside my head. Sand sifts down, cascading over my hat and onto my coat and the book in my hands. "HEY!"  
  
44's eyes are tired as he lays a hand gently on 192's upper arm. only to be shrugged off with a snarl.  
  
I look up, surprised. 192 never acts that way around us. what's wrong with him?? "192!?"  
  
He looks up with a scowl, before turning and almost throwing himself against the wall, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Like a damn angsty teen. he growls something to himself. Confused, I tilt my head.  
  
"Do what with an angel bless?"  
  
He points a finger between my eyes "Never you mind."  
  
and there it is. Never you mind. Never you mind. always, with every question I ask about the things he says, the way he feels, his memories. ask him about what had happened to him before he came to the village. and he'd look at you like you had insulted him. Just get this look in his eye and mutter those old, familiar words. 'never you mind'.. You couldn't press him, and few mages tried. There IS one person he'll talk to. I know now, that he does talk about it. with 288. but 288 says he's sworn to secrecy about it. I can't help laughing slightly. It must really make 192 feel better afterwards. He'll walk around with a smile for an hour after talking with his brother in the hut behind his shop.  
  
He's not smiling now. He's scowling and miserable and gently nursing his bloodied knuckles. and I understood.  
  
"You're worried about master Vivi. Aren't you." It's not a question.  
  
"I was the guard. I was there. I could've done something. I could've protected him. I was there and I left him." Pounding the wall behind him with a clenched fist, he leans heavily, his hat descending as he ducks his head, hiding.  
  
I turn, glancing at my brother out of the corner of my eye. "192. you had another mage thrown at you. what were you gonna do. say no to master Kuja? He told you to leave. You didn't have a choice."  
  
"Staying and dying would have been stupid 192. and wouldn't have helped master Vivi any."  
  
Clenching a fist, 192 growls. "I could've taken him."  
  
I blink, favoring him with a scowling look. "You hit your head didn't you?"  
  
The fist hits the wall, harder this time. "Stupid. I know. I KNOW! But what are we supposed to DO?? Just SIT HERE??"  
  
44's voice is tired. "Just pray to whatever god you believe in and try to get some sleep." And with that, he pulled his hat down, leaned back against the wall, and grew quiet. Food and sleep. 44's answers for everything. I knoew he felt as hurt as any of us, but he always ran away from his problems, gaining comfort from mundane routine and familiarity. maybe that was why he was gaining weight. I stared at him for a few moments, his plush body slumped, face hidden. I should do something. but he wanted to be alone. 192 just growled, hissing things to himself. I blink. I don't know half the words he's using. where did he learn that?  
  
I turn back to my book, my own little refuge. hmm. tracing the page, I turn another, gazing down at the odd little picture spread across the page. Some little lizard creature. wearing a cloak? And carrying a knife. interesting. Letting my eyes pour over the page, I began to read about the odd little fish tailed creature called the tonberry. and pause, about three paragraphs into the information. My eyes widen.  
  
The tonberry, also known as the Pug, green monk and a myriad of other colloquial names, is a deceptively harmless looking yet remarkably dangerous creature. The creature is small, the average head height about mid thigh to a human being, and rather thin. Physically weak and almost cuddly looking, many adventurers completely disregard these creatures as dangers, seeking to finish them off without thought. This, however, more often than not, proves fatal, to even large adventuring groups. A tonberry's main attack is completely unique in the bestiary of Gaia. Every tonberry that has been encountered in the wild is always found wielding a blade, often nothing more than an old kitchen knife. the blade itself seems to have no effect on the attack's effectiveness, however, the main attack itself not coming from the physical wound.  
  
The Grudge Knife operates off of a purely psychic level of damage, an attack that often leaves the mind of a victim shattered beyond repair. The move known only as Everyone's Grudge, acts purely on the level of the victims memories, pulling from the mind every available injustice committed, each life taken and magnifying the residual guilt and other negative feelings to fatal levels, leaving the victim in a state of catatonia. There are no known protective spells, charms or other aides to protect from this psychic attack, only the quick thinking and acting on the part of the adventurer, a thing aided by the habitual sluggishness of the tonberry's movements.  
  
The tonberrie's culture.  
  
The book snaps closed with a sharp crack as I stare into space, my eyes wide and pale, mind feeling oddly numb. I blink, several times, trying to work through the feelings screaming in the back of my brain. A tonberry can access a person's memories to use as an attack. Any memories. All memories. maybe. maybe even the memories within. a mage's mind. Maybe even those locked away behind the veil of our previous life. Behind the screen of mindless, soulless obedience. No mage remembers anything from before. only the sharp stink and harsh cacophony of their combat wreathed birth. I. I couldn't remember what had happened. Why I had been there. My first memory had been seeing one of my brothers pinned to the wall by a lance through the stomach, writhing slightly as I stared in shock. The fear, confusion and panic had saved me, allowing me to be borne to the ground and buried by the falling bodies. I don't know if I would have survived if I had run. I guess I'll never know. I had wondered, so many times about what had happened before, about how long I had been alive before I had woken up.  
  
How many months had I languished within the prison of my own mind. .And how many months I had left.  
  
I set the book home with a shaking hand, banishing the idea from my mind. I had killed, I knew that much. the idea was stupid, dumb, idiotic. I had no idea where to search, much less how to get there. and what would be the good to get there if I did. To see, then to die? I might survive. maybe. Was it worth risking my life over something as. stupid, as that? Of course not. I set the book aside, shoving it to the opposite side of the table and letting out a sharp groan.  
  
I turned to 192, favoring him with a long, appraising look. He didn't notice at first, caught in his own little world. and turned to me. His eyes were tired, empty, his expression caught in his familiar old look of half defensive rebuffment. ".what do you want 123."  
  
"You don't talk much."  
  
"No, I don't. So nice of you to notice."  
  
Sarcasm. Not an encouraging sign. I sigh. ".why?"  
  
"Never you m-" He pauses, arching what would have been an eyebrow if we had hair as my fist finds the trunk beneath me, echoing as I pound the wood.  
  
"Don't. Just, don't."  
  
He gives me an appraising look. "Touchy."  
  
I glare at him briefly. "You're one to talk."  
  
Eyes far away, he leans back, demeanor cold as he crosses his hands over his chest once again. "I have my reasons."  
  
44's eyes open at my annoyed hiss, fingers tight on the handle of the chest below me. I bang my head against the wall, eyes closing in frustration. "And if I asked you why, you'd just blow me off again. Why? Why? And I swear, if you say that blasted never you mind one more time, I'm going to punch you in the stomach, you hear me??"  
  
He looks away. "You are touchy."  
  
"Are you going to answer me?"  
  
"Nope." He almost seemed smug about it. I never before wanted to hit my brother before today. I murmur something without even realizing it, something I had heard 192 himself say.  
  
He turns to me with a grunt of disgust. "Don't say that if you don't know what you're saying. You just asked for something very intricate and painful, something you'd never want to happen to you." His gaze was far away, and I tilted my head, confused at the note in his voice. Almost one of pain. He scratches at his collarbone again, gloved fingers brushing at the right side of his clavicle with a distracted touch. I've seen him do it a lot. In the same place every time, as one would an old, healed over wound."Just leave me alone."  
  
I sigh, losing my resolve. So much had happened recently. I felt so drained. I silently whisper an apology to 192, sinking back against the wall, letting my eyelids flutter a little as I sat, staring at a small spot of dust on the floor.  
  
Nothing we can do. Nothing. Nothing. So helpless. So damn helpless. just sitting here. with master Vivi locked in that miserable little room. with Kuja. Please, please let him be okay. I feel like such a rat. Like such a coward. Just sitting here, sitting in this tiny little storage room. I should be doing something. I should be helping master Vivi. There's nothing I can do. But I should be doing something.  
  
I should have stayed home. I should have stayed home and calmly awaited my death like 288. He was always more then we could ever be. I should be there with him. I glance over, at 192. There was something between 192 and 288. I could feel it. it was. confusing, but it was there. how much must it be hurting 192 to be separated.  
  
I speak without really realizing it. "You know 192. if master Kuja DOES make our lives longer."  
  
He glances up towards me. ".wh- what?"  
  
I shrug. "If he does make our lives longer. what are you going to do about 288? I mean, he's not here, not part of this. he's .he's not going to-"  
  
"Shut up." His voice comes out a hiss, his eyes frigid as he fixes upon me.  
  
"What, it's tr-"  
  
Hands found my collar, fixed tight. His face was almost touching mine, his grip harsh as he snapped me forward, black teeth within a black mouth fixed in a snarl. "Shut up. SHUT UP JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!" My head hits the wall as he releases me, throwing me back and sinking to the floor, against the wall, head in his arms and silent.  
  
"That hurt 192."  
  
His words are soft. "Sorry."  
  
I shake my head, silently wondering at what had caused me to say that. Say that to him. He cared about 288. why had I said that to him? Was I that petty? He loved 288. We all love each other, but it almost seemed. different, with them. And here I was, reminding him that when we did get our lives lengthened to a decent time, he'd have to sit there and watch his friend 288 die.  
  
It would be hard enough for me. For any of us. that would be like making 56 watch 36 die all over again.  
  
And I had sat there and threw that at him. Just because I was annoyed that he was being closed with me. Good job 123. oh yeah, really empathetic. Really considerate there.  
  
I let a breath out, feeling miserable. "I'm so sorry 192. We'll save 288. We'll think of something."  
  
"I thought I told you to shut up." The words should have stung, but the voice issuing them was so full, so choked with agony. he stood there, head in his hands, looking for all the world like he was trying to peel his own face off, his fingers were so stiff. He lets out a long breath, only failing at the end to prevent it from becoming a wail. "He told me to go. He told me to go he told me to go with master Kuja. but he wouldn't come. He wouldn't come and he wouldn't let me stay with him. He pushed me away and made me come to this hellhole and now I'm going to live and he's going to die in my arms and I can't do this. why am I here? Why the hell am I even here, I can't live beyond him. I c-can't even go on without him! What good was this, was any of this anyway? "You know you need to go." What the HELL is THAT supposed to mean???" Choking back a sob, he covers his face as best he can, hand uncharacteristically clumsy for the normally adept master synther, scrubbing at wet eyes with the heel of his right hand.  
  
My throat felt like it was closing. I swallow, trying to form words past the lump. "192."  
  
"Go to sleep.. Please." His voice was very quiet. And very miserable.  
  
I nod, forcing my breath to slow, my eyes to close, and the pain within to go away. even though I knew it wasn't going to. Not now. not soon. maybe not ever.  
  
More exhausted than I could ever remember being, I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Hours pass, alarms sound, and I simply don't care.  
  
-  
  
I awoke to screaming. Very light, soft, more a whimper than a scream. I don't know how I ended up on the floor. I must've slipped down while I was asleep. and 192 was beside me. He wasn't touching me all that much, just his face, pressed into the side of my neck, just under my chin. and he was talking. Still asleep and talking to me. Not to me, I realize. to something, someone else.  
  
"please. please no more. Please don't d-don't. not like that. it h-hurts like that."  
  
I blink, surprised. My hand trembles a little as I reach for him,, easing fingers to my brother's shoulder, gently shaking him awake. At the touch, he suddenly jumps, his eyes going wide and white as he howls."NO PLEASE! I WASN'T RESISTING- I SWEAR I WASN'T- huh?" He looks at me with wide, empty eyes, still pale and addled with sleep. shaking hands rise to my face, gently cupping one cheek. ".288? I've missed you." He leans closer. what is he about to- I freeze, warmth briefly touching my cheek, moving closer to my mo-.  
  
I pull back in surprise, accidentally kneeing him in the stomach as I move, a little more than a bit uncomfortable. I cough. "192. 192? Wake up, 192, wake up."  
  
He blinks awake, his eyes going pale as he leans away from me, his face suddenly turning a bright bluish purple as he hastily scrambles to his feet, back to me as he moves away. ".sorry." I nod dumbly, one hand going to my cheek as I settle against the wall, resuming my seat.  
  
  
  
And nearly fall over in what seriously feels like a heart attack as the door suddenly slammed open. Kuja's jovial face pushes into the room, his face caught in a harsh, triumphant smile. "And so it begins! Come out of there, you pathetic little wretches, I have need of you!" I nod, gulping, and shake 44 awake. He bats at me sleepily, turning onto his shoulder against the wall, still leaning, and slips further asleep. Kuja grunts slightly, bending into the room long enough to pick up a small, ornate scepter, and lobbing it at 44's back. The black mage jumps, almost falling as he whips around, eyes wide.  
  
"Come on come on! I don't have all day! We have plans to get into action, beautiful, devious plans. Oh yes!" Almost skipping, the pale being slips from the doorway, moving into the hall, rousing mages as he went. I glance in as a rather haggard looking Zorn ducks into the room, a sheet of paper in his hand. He reaches me, his hand snapping out to fix around my arm, tugging my sleeve up to glance at the large, blocky tattoo on my wrist. "123. Rear Hilda Garde deck, left side. Standing orders." Businesslike, he moves on, to a very irate looking 192. The other B gives him a venomous glance. He's going to pull away. He's going to make a scene. Oh please don't let him- "He's 192." I state, jumping from my seat and moving over to my scowling faced brother. He shoots me a 'I-don't-need-your-help' look. I ignore him, staring at Zorn imploringly. He merely favors us with a disgusted look before flipping up 44's sleeve. 44 gives us a helpless look, arm outstretched as he's assigned to the boiler room. I wince. Poor guy.  
  
"You have your assignments. Go. Now." With those words he slips out, irately pouring over the sheet before him. He grumbles softly to himself as he joins up with his red hued other, Thorn patting him comfortingly on the back as the two of them move off, down the hallway.  
  
44, 192 and I pour out of the room, 192 grumbling under his breath as he moves beside me, his eyes narrow and his fists tight as he stalks down the hall. Another mage joins us, number 69, looking nervous and edgy, tugging on his hat. His eyes are a bit wild as he looks at me and 44. "Wh-what do you think is happening?" I can only shrug.  
  
44 throws up a hand. *I don't know. who knows with master Kuja. Probably has something to do with master Vivi and his friends."  
  
We walk in silence for a moment, not knowing what to say. We need to hurry. master Kuja looked like he was in a real hurry. 69 looked at me nervously. "Where are we going?"  
  
I can only shrug. "How should I know? That's something Zorn chose not to share with me. and I wasn't inclined to pry."  
  
192 snorts, an odd sound in a mage. He favors 69 with a scathing look. "Just shut up and go along with it. Kuja's not going to spill it, so stop worrying about it. Just go along and for-" I blink. Another one of 192's weird words. 44 blushes. "-sake, just shut up."  
  
69 glares. I lay a hand on his arm, shaking my head, voice apologetic. "He's. touchy. Don't be mad."  
  
I did not expect 192's attitude at all. He actually struck the other mage. Just a little but. what's wrong with him? "HE shouldn't be mad?? He's being an annoying jerk., I mean-" 44's hand clamps over his arm, his eyes dangerous. 192 matches him, stare for stare. "You're touching me. I don't like it. Want me to stop? .What you gonna do about it, dough boy?"  
  
"Insults now?" I growl in disgust. "192- I have no idea why you're so touchy but cut it out. I know things are edgy right now but dammit, just calm down okay? Please?"  
  
Grumping, he nods. Walking on, we make our way to the ship.  
  
-  
  
Sand is so much more HELLISH when you're stuck on the deck of a ship. I find this out, much to my disgust, standing on the deck, hand clamped in a deathgrip to my hat as it whips and tugs, trying to escape me with every ounce of it's clothy being. Every mage has their back to the wind, ever since 32 had collapsed howling after a particularly dramatic spray of airborne sand had nearly taken his eyes out of his head. He was below deck, rubbing a potion into his face and flushing the sand from his abused vision. I silently shake my head, feeling another spray of sand flow over my shoulders, scattering to the deck. Suddenly, being as big and heavy as 44 was didn't seem too bad, considering he would most likely be the only one who wasn't worried at being blown from the deck. Thankfully, only A's and C's were assigned anywhere that didn't involve a railing, so we, the B's, the slighter middle children as it were, weren't in any danger of being blown into the desert to die. I hang on, my hand aching, feeling the wind try again to lift me from the deck and cast me away into space. How can Kuja look so calm, so composed, just standing there, leaning against the railing and staring into the sun blinding distance? He looks so calm, so composed. So in charge. Shivering, I almost turn away, then remember that the only away is a face full of terminal velocity sand. I hate sand. I hate sand I hate sand I hate sand.  
  
I glance at the sun. How long had I been asleep? It seems hours and hours later. of course, being inside Kuja's residence made it impossible to tell the time. but it felt like so much later. Had I been that tired? Considering past events? Could very well be. I snap myself from my current musings in time to duck a brush of sand from where it was trying to blow across my face, and hiss in annoyance, feeling skin chafe and clothes get that much more itchy. I hate sand.  
  
What are we doing here? Not the great, celestial question humans seem to always be asking themselves, but a bit more utilitarian. I don't even know where we're going, much less the reasons. But, being a black mage, it's not MY position to question. Sighing, I lean against the railing, waiting out the airborne hell.  
  
I turn. 69 is staring out into the distance. Into the wind. I blink, glance back at master Kuja. Not looking. Shivering, I push out, along the rail. Slide, slide. And grab him. My voice is manic. "What are you DOING? You're going to blind yourself!"  
  
And then I realize he seems to be panicking. "I set the trap. I almost killed them. I almost killed them all what the hell is wrong with me? I'm being bad I'm doing wrong what the h-hell is wrong with me."  
  
I embrace him briefly, ruffling his hat with one hand, almost losing my own. "You did as ordered."  
  
"Yeah, but now that Eiko kid is in trouble. oh 123. what's going to happen to her? She's just a little girl."  
  
I freeze, hand on my hat, eyes wide. "-what?"  
  
69's voice quavers. "We took her. She's here. On the ship. and Kuja's going to do horrible things to her. And it's all our fault."  
  
I take him in my arms, utterly lost for words. What do you say to something like that? What the hell are you supposed to say to something like that.  
  
  
  
-  
  
Far below deck, a plush figure, slightly larger than most type A's sits beside a small, unconscious bundle, his hands gently rubbing her shoulder, his warm gold eyes guilty and sad. Brushing the purple hair from around her horn, he whispers small, near meaningless reassurances, voice low and hopeless.  
  
-  
  
Esto Gaza. A massive cavern.. And a lot of fluffy horrible white snow that sucks the warmth from the feet and crusts on the souls of your shoes and chokes your footsteps and seems to pull the very warmth from your soul as you are left to trudge between the walls of your brothers. Or at least it was for me. for others, I'm sure their impression would be a bit different.  
  
The temple loomed before us. Master Kuja enters. and so do we. What else could we do?  
  
Smoke. Great. A hundred candles or more, each dribbling wax and smoking with the bitter stink of sizzling tallow. No coughing Kuja had said, and I could hear my brothers before and after me struggling to comply. Struggling as I did. The light was pale, orange and flickering as we entered, thankful, even with the smoke and stink of the candles, simply thankful to be out of the snow. I shoot a furtive glance as we walk, kicking snow from my shoes in what I hope is a sneaky manner. Master Kuja wants us to be in synchronization when we walk. And we do, well, almost. I glance behind me as I walk.  
  
The priest utters a stuttering protest. I would have answered him, apologized for the intrusion. For the puddles on the floor. But the master had ordered us silent. I bite my lip as I walk by, avoiding the man's angry, affronted glare. and look to the line, near the back. a little before the slowly walking figures of Zorn and Thorn, both uncharacteristically sober and quiet in the gloom, there walks a mage a little bigger than most.  
  
44 is there. The tiny bundle in his big, gentle arms doesn't stir, doesn't move. she's so still. The shiver takes me before I can stop it, partially falling out of step. Thankfully master Kuja misses it. Thankfully. He seems too elated to notice very much of anything. I walk, my mind elsewhere and my soul miserable in my chest. This is wrong. Whatever happens this is wrong. This is wrong this is wrong this is. nothing to do about it but this is WRONG dammit.  
  
I wish I wasn't such a pitiful, pathetic coward. A wishful thought, I know, but sometimes. it would be nice. I'd die, of course, but it would be nice.  
  
I shake my head as the darkness descends, the gloomy cavern air thick and gray, stifling in my lungs as I walk onwards tirelessly, my mind feeling dead within my head, eyes empty and unseeing. I don't notice the gray pebbles shifting under my feet, the gray coating of dust that slowly begins to settle over us like the laments of the damned, coating me. coating all of us. showing us our sins in small, grainy fragments of the dying mountains, the memories of foolish adventurers long since reduced to this choking, poisonous dust. I cough softly, trying to get the taste of age and death from out of my mouth, running my dry, scratchy tongue over my lips in a hopeless attempt to bring some moisture to my tomb of a mouth at the moment. 192, directly ahead of me, curses softly under his breath. It's seems almost a mantra to him, hearing him spewing horrid words and phrases under his breath with every step. He's not even angry, just talking softly to himself, bestowing curses almost amiably upon every rock borne stumble, each toe jarred within his shoe, each mage he jostles in unintentional misstep. Even bestowing them on himself. I realize, as I walk, that most seem directed at him. he's berating himself again. I want to talk. to help him. To try to help him. Glancing at him from the corner of my eye, I let my eyes drift over him. he seems so gaunt. Does he eat? I don't know. I don't know. I -I should be watching him. with 288 gone. I should be watching him. but I haven't.  
  
Scowling to myself, I curse softly, sighing. I've been drifting away from my brothers. Most of us have been staying in the cells, spending our free time eating within our own little group. talking with each other; easing the pain by sharing our fears, uncertainties with our brothers, letting the agony go just a little. sleeping against each other's shoulder, curled around a hip, leaning into the warmth. Comfort. Security. and where have I been?  
  
Sitting in a cold, ill lit storage room, reading books the master Kuja would mindwipe me if he knew I was handling. Physics, biology, anatomy, chemistry. geology, geography, aerodynamics, history. psychology. Even philosophy. I would sit and read, pouring over the books in the way only a mage can read. a page at a single glance, perfectly understood and filed away. I knew now. I knew about people and things, animals, the world beneath my feet and the air around my face. The air within my body. I understood. but with understanding. came loneliness. I. I had left them.  
  
I had begun avoiding them. Not totally, by any means. But I felt myself. drifting. Drifting away. and I didn't know why. I loved my brothers. so very much. so much it hurt. Had I hurt them? Had they ached at my absence? .Or did it not matter?  
  
56. He had pulled me out of the darkness. he had held me to him, pressing me to his warm, soft shoulder. taking the pain away. And I realized now stupid. how very silly I had been. It took a bit more than a simple absence to remove the bond we held. And I cried. Because it had felt so good to know that I was being nothing more than a silly, foolish little boy. and that there was still a spot for me around the tetra master board. A shoulder for sleeping on. A lap for night terrors. A hand for kindness. eyes for compassion. arms for understanding. and words for release. I hadn't lost myself. they had found me. And pulled me back.  
  
The dirt thick and soft beneath my sandals, I laugh, even now, at my own foolishness. Stupid boy. would you be so fickle with your friendships? .I shake my head, feeling almost ashamed at my own assumptions. to think so very little of my own brother's compassion.  
  
Suddenly, soft footsteps, grinding on dirt shift, alter. echoing with a hollow, dull reverberation. Kuja slips into the structure, trying to sight the way to whatever ineffable goal he seeks. I see the mage at the front of the line, 32, hesitate. He tests the floor. nervousness written across his tight, drawn features. I can't hear what master Kuja says at that moment but it certainly causes a mad jumping rush by the scared mage, the next few not even questioning the floor as they spill in.  
  
"Fuck if I'm going in there."  
  
I glance up. 192's eyes are slits, disgust and defiance etched into his tight, drawn face. He begins to slow his steps. I raise my hand, fingers shaking. "192." My hand settles on his shoulder.  
  
I never felt a mage's muscles stiffen so suddenly, nor so much. His voice emerges as a low, very quiet hiss. "Get. Your. Hand. Off. Me."  
  
".19-"  
  
"Now."  
  
I remove it. He doesn't even look back, stomping across the ancient floorboards, nothing between him and a good three hundred foot drop but some weathered, half rotted wood. Face ashen, I follow, shaken.  
  
His voice is a warbling growl, the half garbled words flung with small drops of saliva from between clenched teeth. I can't even begin to comprehend what he's saying. do what with a length of piano wire? That sounds painful.  
  
"-skin it slowly with a paring knife and grind in the mineral salts DAMN this I can't BELIEVE this what the hell am I DOING he-"  
  
The wall, so calm and serene, so wall-like and solid. suddenly loses all of it's solidity and much of it's wall-likeness in one rather violent instant. I wince, ducking back in shock as 192 screams like a stabbed child as the wall beside him suddenly erupts into a spray of stone bits and splinters. Covered in dust, he stands there, his eyes wide and very, very pale. Hunched, he stands, legs shaking and fingers twitching helplessly, face blank with shock. He's just standing there. why-  
  
The dust choked light hides a body, a massive, gleaming red body, the dust ruffled feathers shifting with every tense shifting movement. The jaws of the massive red dragon gape wide, small lines of acidic saliva drooling down each and every curve, needlelike fang within the wet mouth, gaping in the horrid dragon's face like an open wound. It makes no sound as the long, gleaming neck coils to strike.  
  
192's voice is very soft as he stands, hunched and miserable like a lost child, staring up into the murderous, tooth lined pit aimed at his face. "288. help me please. I'm scared."  
  
The tears start then ".288?"  
  
In a flash of murderous red scales, the jaws descend with a howl straight out of hell.  
  
to be continued.  
  
-  
  
yeah, I know. What a rat right? *silently apologizes to any Burmecians who might have been offended by this comment.* Wonder what's going to happen? Is 192 about to get his intestines spilled to the floor in a wash of blood and screaming? Is the entire group about to get blitzed? Is the author really a girl, and not a rather talented Bonobo with a playstation and too much free time? Ha! Wait to find out, why don'cha! Next chapter Zorn and Thorn die! Waa! @_@ *sniffle* It's going to be hard watching those two be slaughtered. but the plot must go on. *wipes nose on Kuja's skirt* we salute you, Zorn and Thorn.  
  
*is backhanded into low entery orbit by the irate Kuja, ranma ½ style* eeeeeee! See you in chapter 7! 


	7. Termination

Never Deal with a Dragon  
  
(Editted by Ivyna! ^_~)  
  
Disclaim... well, this IS the seventh chapter in this story, so I really shouldn't have to tell you all that I don't own the rights to Final Fantasy IX, right? After all, if I did, I'd certainly be sitting back, sipping something heavily alcoholic and laughing my arse off, pointing at you and laughing in a Simpson-esque manner. So I don't own it, okay? Okay?? Rub it in why don't you!? Hurt my delicate feelings!! Why don't you steal 123 while you're at it?? Wait! Don't! Bring back my character! Waaah! *runs after them*  
  
Well anyway, I don't own it. *sniff* So lets all just give a black mage a hug (except 192, hug him and you'll get a knee to the groin) and sit back. This installment in the tale of 123 is almost over, fancy that? Like I've been promising recently, new characters soon, new situations. Be patient ^_^ Oh, and if yer all curious, you could e-mail me at sad_mudokon@hotmail.com to find out what happened in 192's past. (though I'd advise serious consideration of whether or not you truly want to know ~_^)  
  
  
  
I guess there's still a bit of programming left in us, after all. I certainly don't remember actually moving- not that I moved all that much. I didn't remember raising my arms, they were just in the air, hands outstretched and fingers tensed, almost painfully… and the echo of that word. Not Blizzard, Blizarra, or a dozen others I could have shouted… No, just that old, sad word. KILL. I heard it, from the mouths of my brothers, echoed a dozen times over. Time seemed to be standing still, or was that just the aftereffects of the dozen or so Slow and Stop spells that had suddenly slammed into that poor dragon? I mean, it WAS trying to eat 192, but that's still a bit of a harsh thing to do to a living thing…. No wonder everyone was afraid of the black mages. I can't say I'd blame them.  
  
Time was moving astoundingly slow. I just stood there, watching calmly, almost curiously, as my spell hit. It wasn't an orthodox spell, I know- I shouldn't have used it, I didn't know what it would do. It was dangerous in theory, but as the few drops of blood hit me in the eye, I found it surprisingly effective. Gruesomely effective. Overall, I'd say the last thing the dragon had to worry about was a handful of chronology spells as my Monomolecular Wind Scythe sheared into- and then through- that thin, whip like neck. The dark, powerful muscles and shiny scales were suddenly obscured in a spray of blood as the thin line of air (carefully crafted with an intricate chain molecular wave propulsion system, devised by yours truly, at the head of which is a single molecular strand of time bonded air molecules, creating a razor edge which- oh shoot okay I'll leave it alone….) well, the thin line of air decapitated the poor beastie.  
  
192 screamed like a little girl, curling into a tight, fetal ball as the jaws descended, pinning him to the wall. But the bite didn't come- just a wave of foul smelling, stinging blood that suddenly poured in a high pressure gout from the throat, soaking the traumatized 192 in the dark, acrid ichor. The jaws pinned him to the wall, muscles rigid with death as the body shook, the five or so feet of empty air between the head and neck illustrating the rather dead nature of the beast.  
  
But there was that instinct again. As harshly decapitating as my blade spell was, I'm not even really sure I was the one who struck the deathblow. Almost directly behind mine, another wind scythe-esque blade, thicker and far more damaging, slashed through the neck, not severing the now hanging piece so much as shattering the flesh to a disgusting pulpy mess… A few inches behind that, a spell which, if I can pull it out of the throng sounded something along the lines of Razorsomethingorother Cyclone, suddenly plowed through the base of the throat, taking out a section a little thicker than my torso. I can only feel sympathy for the mages on the other side of that particular attack.  
  
A dozen harsh scythes and blades of ice suddenly materialized, cutting deep and rending through the brilliant red scales, feathers cascading down in a wave from the stump of one wing, the mangled remains of the other… The last remnants of the Stop spells began to fade, the arcane alterations to the beasts body having been targeted at brutal and fatal key points, the last flutters of time magic fading in the chest, from where they had frozen heart and lungs. The body, more ground meat than thrashing dragon, suddenly tottered in the bright portal it was perched upon. The gruesome, headless beast, still spraying great gouts of stinking blood, reared up suddenly, whipping the blood hose of a neck around, as if it still had the ability to feel the mortal pain…. and slowly toppled, one wrecked wing pumping pathetically as, with a great groan of tearing splinters, the body fell back, spewing feathers and blood and was gone. The dust swirled back into the open hole, tinted gold in the faint half-light….  
  
…Time snapped back with an almost painful recoil. Shaking helplessly, I could only stare, feeling the shock and the singing adrenaline begin to fade, the harsh smell of my blood flecked robes rising sickeningly…. It almost couldn't be real. I stared, utterly shocked, bloody and stinking, my arms still outstretched in an agonizing position. I- I hadn't even thought. I just…. and then they…. and the dragon, it was- it was…. My hands fell to my sides with a thump, fingers curling into my palms as I suddenly gritted my teeth, breath wheezing as I tried to avoid emptying whatever pitiful contents of my stomach I had onto the weathered floorboards…. 69 wasn't so lucky as he collapsed to hands and knees, retching miserably….  
  
Moving as if in a dream, I turned my head, eyes wide….  
  
192 stared, his eyes narrowed and his arms crossed, the finger length fangs pressed rather dangerously to the stomach of his coat, his face, hat and jacket soaked in dark, almost purplish blood. It dripped sullenly from his wilted hat as he leaned against the wall he was pinned to, his eyes a disturbing, unfamiliar reddish gold. He cleared his throat scratchily, spitting dark red onto the aged wood and snapped, "Would somebody PLEASE mind helping me with the rather large DRAGON'S JAWS locked around my stomach?? PLEASE!?" He thumps the side of the muzzle with a clenched hand, gesticulating in rage at the toothy vice pinning him back. "…Um… NOW??"  
  
I shake my head with a snap, mind fuzzy, and slip forward in a rush, feeling strangely sleepy with shock. Face sheepish, I run my fingers over the fangs, grasping right behind one of the lower canines where the tooth isn't that sharp, and pull as hard as I can. The head barely even wobbled. Another tug…. 56 moves up behind me, his eyes troubled as he grabs the lip between upper and lower jaw, scrambling to pull…. A type C on the other side begins chipping at the stone around the front of the jaw, levering the head away.  
  
It takes about ten of us to pull the head away, still slick and stinking, and toss the icky thing aside. My gloves are soaked and slimy, smelling of half rotten catfish…. Ugh. Shaking my fingers, I glance up to 192, his eyes narrowed in despondent revulsion as the blood courses down his neck, his coat thick and heavy with the horrid stuff…. Sighing, he wrings the edge of his coat out with a splatter of blood, the gesture utterly pointless on the sodden cloth. His voice is droll. "Well, wasn't that an interesting little diversion? I feel right cheerful now, right fucking exultant! Oh yeah, today is truly turning into an uplifting day." Sputtering dragon's blood, 192 slips the hat from his blood slicked head, shaking it several times, and glances up, eyes thin brown slits at the sound of soft, droll applause.  
  
Kuja smirked softly, clapping with a limp wristed lethargy, his eyes cool as he approached the group of sodden mages. Smiling softly, he bent a little, staring into 192's eyes. His voice is soft and amused, tone gentle. "Well now. That was certainly a heartening sight. Glad to know you little guys haven't really degenerated into tree hugging hippies like I had feared…." Gently readjusting 192's dripping collar with a pale alabaster hand, Kuja smirks, straightening the cloth and meeting the revolted, loathing gaze of the now utterly shivering mage in his grip.  
  
Every muscle in 192's body seemed ready to snap, a definite tick in his left cheek and his black on black teeth bared as he stood there, locked in the gentle touch of the pale man before him…. Eyes narrowed and breath seething in his throat, 192 stared at a small, unremarkable point somewhere to the right of Kuja's face, his expression tight, halfway between deadpan and the most fearsome of ferals. Kuja just laughed, readjusting the collar and straightened, cleaning his fingers on the back of my coat as he walked past.  
  
"Had enough fun for today little ones? We have so much to do, oh yes…. Mustn't dally now, move smartly gents…. We have quite a ways to go…."  
  
---  
  
  
  
"I'm going to smack him one day. I really am..." Muttering as he walked, 192 clenched his fist... His voice seemed a little less livid then normal, and his eyes were dull. A bit of his fire seemed to have gone out, and it was odd seeing him this way. We were going downwards, walking a narrow spiral over a deep, flat-bottomed pit... I glanced behind me, curiously, looking towards the back of the line. If all the mages seemed to be high strung, tense and worried, it didn't compare at all to Zorn and Thorn. Nobody was looking at them, all eyes either turned towards the front, towards the ground directly in front of each black mage's cloth covered, shuffling feet- or down into the gloomy depths of the pit.  
  
They looked really depressed, each movement slow and tense, as if it caused them pain. Zorn's eyes were fixed straight forward, locked on the back of the mage before him, his expression stormy, surly and tense. Each step was hampered, shuffling, and long as he struggled, shooting a perturbed glare to his brother, who had his face pressed into Zorn's shoulder. He wasn't so much walking as dangling from his other's shoulders, arms locked around his chest... Every few steps, Zorn would pause, trying with straining fingers and an irate growl to shake his 'brother' from his torso. Actions halfhearted, in resignation as he pulled the other red hued jester behind him, his face a fierce scowl. 44 occasionally turned to look, face confused. He usually received a growl for his efforts...  
  
My feet ached. I had always enjoyed walks out in the forest, strolling through the sylvan, sublime beauty of the sun dappled trees, the gentle green moss, the waving plant life around me, subtly singing... But, as I trudged through the newest drift of dust, this was as far from a pleasant walk as one could imagine without throwing in elements like pools of lava or acid rain.  
  
"And so we are here! Rejoice!" Tossing up his hands in a theatrical wave, Kuja broke through the opening, his face ecstatic and his steps light. We filed into the area apprehensively, faces etched with troubled grimaces and eyes wide.  
  
I slipped into the area, letting a soiled glove trail over the rough, slate gray wall. 69 shuffled in beside me, his neck craning to stare up into the gloom looming above us. I blinked softly, following his gaze into the flue of empty darkness above us all...  
  
"Fuckin'ell- move you sodding jerk!" Hands found my back, nearly sending me sprawling from 192's rough, callous shove. 56 squeaked as I slammed into him, arms involuntarily wrapping around his waist as I fell against him, the plush A stumbling with a wild windmilling of his arms. 69 yelped as a flailing hand found him, ducking back with a stinging face- 192, scowling at the lot of us, pushed forward, nudging aside a much larger C with a growl and slipping to the front of the group. Rankled, I followed him, followed closely by 56 and a wincing 69, the mage rubbing tenderly at his cheek.  
  
Kuja... he looked majestic, poised and sure, as he stared at the small, unremarkable space like it was holy ground. His face positively shown, grinning with a luminous radiance. 44 approached meekly at the curt snap, his movements kindly and gentle as he slipped forward, plush arms cupping the little, horn crowned girl to his chest. Gently smoothing back a strand of bluish violet hair, he crooned hopelessly, laying her softly down upon the hard floor.  
  
192 tensed, his fists tight. Wincing back with a meek whimper, 44 ducked back as Kuja snapped out with a tight backhand, slapping the large A away from the girl between them. 44 retreated, hugging himself as he slipped to the back of the group, his posture slumped and miserable. I couldn't help but stare at him sorrowfully as he slid past, staring into those misery- choked eyes....  
  
Kuja's hands were soft, sliding through the purple bangs, tracing softly around the base of the horn with slow, rhythmic movements, Kuja crouched, unmoving, his face intent and pensive.... Not looking up, he suddenly smiled, his voice low.  
  
"Zoooorn... Thoooorn.... Come here, my useless little freaks.... I have need of you."  
  
Face ugly with apprehension, Zorn slipped forward, one hand protectively thrown across his other's chest. Thorn stared, hunched slightly as he moved up beside his brother, hand briefly entwining his blue clad other's own....  
  
"You called, Master Kuja?"  
  
"A need of us you have?"  
  
His hand gently rising, Kuja beckoned the pair with a languid gesture, indicating them closer... Shooting each other an apprehensive look, the two jesters slid forward cautiously, eyes intent on their master... Thorn, eyes wincing closed, suddenly fell to his knees with a thick crunch as the pale fingers wound in his collar, tugging him forward with a snap-  
  
"Eidolons. Extraction. Now."  
  
Stammering as he adjusted his hat, the red clad jester blinked miserably, staring fearfully at the pale effigy before him. Zorn coughed softly, nervously. "But Master Kuja- sh-she is only six years old! A safe Eidolon extraction won't be able to be performed on the child for another ten years!" Sweat running from under his jester's cap, Zorn ducked back from the look his master shot him. Thorn gagged as the collar of cloth tightened at his throat.  
  
"Eidolons-"  
  
"But- but Master Kuja-"  
  
"Extraction-"  
  
"Bring harm to the poor child you will, Master Kuja!"  
  
"~NOW~"  
  
Thorn shook as his blue brother picked him from the pale man's grip with a submissive nod, hat jangling. "As you wish, my Master..." Whisper hoarse and comforting, Zorn led his shaking brother to the center of the room, Thorn's hand weak as he massaged some life back into the thin, wrinkled skin at his throat. Zorn shot the pale man a long, troubled look before the two began to move into positions, muttering softly beneath their breath...  
  
Surveying his upcoming handiwork, Kuja stood, hands on his hips and a smile across his painted face.  
  
"Great perverted Gods, Kuja, what the hell are you going to do to the poor kid?!" Snarling beside me, 192 stepped out, eyes narrowed on the back of the man before him... and stopped. Back tense and eyes wary, he watched the effeminate albino sorcerer turn.... and shrank away with an involuntary whimper.  
  
Kuja did not look happy. As one would remember a small, misbehaving dog they had forgotten was there, Kuja looked down at the slighter mage, his expression disparaging. His voice came out a jaded hiss. "Still your tongue dog, lest you be silenced like one...."  
  
I was staring right at 192 when the words hit, watched him turn gray.... One shaking hand rising to his throat, the normally brash, grumpy type B suddenly stilled, his eyes wide... I blinked, watching the liquid silver slide down his face as the other mage, normally so strong and so very unpleasant, suddenly whimpered softly and crept to the back of the crowd. 44 blinked in surprise as the touch-wary 192 suddenly buried his face in the big mage's shoulder and didn't make a sound. Hands awkward, he patted the other's shoulder, looking at his brothers with a confused supplication for help...  
  
Kuja's eyes were on us, sliding over us, his face a mask of gentle amusement. And somehow that small musing grin was worse than a thousand stormy expressions.... Gently moving forward, Kuja crooned softly, herding the forefront mages before him with small shooing motions of his hands. "Come on now silly little mages. Let the Jester Twins work..."  
  
We moved away from him, slipping back the way we had come and into a small alcove, half spilled out behind him and eyes wide. Packed tightly, I gently leaned against 56's side as the A moved in ahead of me, watching over his shoulder as he reached behind him, patting my hip in a comforting manner. I silently laid my hand over his, squeezing....  
  
---  
  
Lying in the intricate circle carved in the dust, the small child lay as one dead, her perfect porcelain face composed in a faint pout of worry, even in sleep. Limbs limp, she slept softly, breath slow and unnaturally shallow....  
  
Zorn and Thorn stood unmoving, staring down at the pale faced child. Running a hand over the back of his neck, Thorn stared, at a total loss. Zorn growled, shaking his head in a jingling cacophony of bells, his expression sour and resigned. Nodding to the nervous red and white clothed harlequin, Zorn rubbed his hands together, shook the sleeves from his wrists, and sighed. Clearing his throat, Zorn coughed once, bitterly, and drew a deep, fluttering breath.  
  
"Eidolons of eternal life!" Voice resounding and strong, Zorn called out the words in a clear, surprising tenor, his eyes closing as he raised his hands to the darkness above him.  
  
Frightened to fall out of synch, Thorn drew a deep breath and called out, his voice firm and a half octave higher than his brother's.... "Eidolons of infinite power!" Chiming in with perfect timing, Thorn called out, continuing the spell.... Switching spots with a wild gymnastic turning half cartwheel, the two jesters moved in perfect synchronization, slamming into the dust with a precision that would make an Olympic athlete feel stupid and clumsy.  
  
Straightening with a harsh crackling of his back, Zorn closed his eyes, singing the spell in firm, forceful tones. "Arise from thy eternal slumber!"  
  
Thorn called out a beat after his twin, his voice free of the confusing mismatched grammar and backward speech. Following the simple rhythm of the spell, he matched the cadence word for word, slipping into the meditative half hypnotism of the spell, reciting each part perfectly. "Depart after thy endless wait!"  
  
Zorn called out, surrendering to the spell. "Let there be light!"  
  
Eyes glazed, Thorn sang the words out, echoing across the stone. "Let there be life!"  
  
Almost falling out of synch, the two jesters paused as the form within the circle suddenly twitched.... and rose in a cloud of dust and disturbing, flashing sparkles cascading down from her faint, slight body. Shaking his head, Zorn began the wild, capricious dance once again, his eyes closed in concentration as he stilled, calling out in a sonorous voice. "The time has come!"  
  
Voice almost a roar, Zorn completed the spell, his voice hoarse and painfully loud. "The time is NOW!"  
  
Arms outstretched and body painfully taut, the two jesters stood, eyes closed and hands to the sky like two priests supplicating the heavens. A few seconds passed, the only sound the gentle whistling of wind deep in the caverns...  
  
Thorn blinked softly, his hands falling from the sky as he paused, tilting his head with a confused jangle.... Zorn coughed nervously, his voice raw and hoarse as he stopped, hand rising to his chin in perturbed thought. Eyes narrowed in concentration, he stared at the girl, his face sour. "...That was odd."  
  
Thorn nodded, looking down at the girl. "Odd, that was..." Numbly acknowledging his brother's statement, he glanced over at the other jester, confusion alight in his eyes. It had worked perfectly. What had gone wrong?  
  
Inconceivable. Something had gone wrong- but where? Shaking his head, Zorn coughed angrily. "We failed again!"  
  
Voice bitter, Thorn kicked the dust. "Again we have failed...."  
  
Turning away with a growl, Zorn stared at the little girl as if she had just insulted him, and turned to his brother. Voice not unkind, he asked shortly, bluntly. "Did you make a mistake?" He certainly hadn't made a mistake, but what could've gone wrong?  
  
Looking affronted, Thorn shook his head with a strident jangling sound. Having gone through a similar introspective himself not a moment ago, he stared at his 'brother' with a thoroughly confused look. "Make mistake, I did not!" Throwing up his hands helplessly, he offered the only solution he could come up with. "Yours, the mistake must be..." He offered an apologetic shrug.  
  
Zorn shook his own head empathetically. "I made no mistake at all!" An irksome snarl on his face, he glared at the girl on the ground.  
  
Getting a little annoyed himself, Thorn dug at the dust at his feet, his face sour. "The truth, do you speak?" He oozed skepticism, having been rather rankled at his normally at least somewhat caring companion's sudden harassment. Crossing his arms, he met his brother stare for stare.  
  
Absorbed in their squabble, neither of them noticed the form slipping up behind them- "Of course I speak the truth!" Snapping the words out, Zorn hissed menacingly, his eyes narrowed as he slumped, teeth fixed as he locked eyes with his brother. Anger sang palpably between the two of them, almost visible in the air...  
  
A kick found Thorn's side, tugging the air from his lungs as he crumpled to his side, eyes going half closed as he suddenly glanced upwards. Looking exasperated. Kuja aimed another kick at Zorn, who barely dodged. "Will you two just SHUT UP!?"  
  
Throwing a half frightened, half-surly look to his brother, the blue clad jester slumped defiantly, his voice a growl. "I-It's his fault!" Whining like an irate child, Zorn turned his face away, refusing to meet his brother's gaze....  
  
Hissing the words, Thorn mutters under his breath "H-His fault, it is..."  
  
---  
  
"Ye gods, they're acting like little kids..." 192 groaned out the astute observation, covering his face with an embarrassed hand.  
  
---  
  
Thorn turned to Zorn, pointing an irate finger. "The one who messed up is YOU!"  
  
"YOU'RE the one who messed up!" Shaking a fist, Zorn stomped the ground, positively livid. A few moments more and the mad jester would be foaming at the mouth....  
  
Slapping the hands down with a sharp, stinging gesture, Kuja turns to each jester in turn, half ducked and snarling. "I. Said. Shut. Up." Grabbing a handful of collar, he shook each jester once, menacingly. "I don't want to hear excuses..." voice calm and composed, he shot each of the two brothers a firm, harsh look.  
  
Glancing down at the girl, he growls softly, pointing with a rigid finger. "I sense power from within her. Continue the extraction!"  
  
Zorn turned to look at the girl, tugging fretfully on one bell.... She looked so sallow, flushed, half dead already. She was far too young. Any more of this and she wouldn't make it. Turning once again to the tall, pale man, he spoke softly, silently hoping and praying the inconsolable madman would listen. "Continuing further will endanger the subject's life!"  
  
Bending to the girl, Thorn threw out a hand to her shoulder, muttering to their master hopelessly. "Only at the age of sixteen can Eidolons be extracted!"  
  
Both winced, whimpering miserably as Kuja straightened, his face a mask of irate loathing. His voice came out a disgusted hiss. "You two just don't get it...."  
  
Voice musing, he murmured to himself, staring down at the girl, "I need an Eidolon more powerful than Alexander... an Eidolon with the power to bury Garland.... His powers are incredible; I cannot even come close. I MUST destroy him before Terra's plan is activated, or my soul will no longer be my own!" Shaking himself from his momentary reverie, Kuja snaps out a finger, spearing straight at the girl and snarls viciously. "Who CARES if she lives?? I want that Eidolon!!"  
  
Flashing one another one last, hopeless look, Zorn and Thorn sigh, more a whimper than a breath, and step forward.  
  
A flash of creamy pink suddenly springs at the two, Thorn suddenly trapping his brother's neck in a stranglehold as they start back, nearly falling... and stare. Zorn tilts his head, curiously....  
  
The odd little moogle stands fuming before them, between them and their goal, her little eyes beady and menacing. Almost laughing, Thorn straightens himself, looking over the obstructive, annoying little creature. The little thing bares it's- her, he notes with some amusement- teeth, spitting the word "Kupo!" The little wings flutter once.  
  
Moving up beside his brother, Zorn tilts his head. "Where did that come from?"  
  
Shrugging, Thorn turned to the thing. Making what he hoped were menacing motions with his hands, he waved at the thing a couple times. She didn't budge. A bit annoyed now, Thorn growled slightly "You, get out of our way!"  
  
The little fuzzball just scrunched up her features into a rather startling snarl.  
  
At a loss, the two jesters shot each other a long look, turning as one to call out in confusion- "Master!"  
  
Turning with a growl, Kuja snaps out, impatient- "Well!?" His glance alights on the moogle, a look of incredulous annoyance flashing across his features....  
  
"Kupo....!"  
  
Pointing accusingly at it, Zorn growls. "Her pet moogle is interfering with the extraction process!"  
  
The final link fell into place as Thorn scowled. "Certain are we that IT caused the failure!" The stupid thing had nearly ruined everything....  
  
Tossing a hand in disinterest, Kuja spits forth the painfully obvious conclusion. "Kill the runt! We're running out of time!"  
  
"Kupo....!"  
  
Zorn and Thorn faced the little ball of fluff. Sighing softly, they gently slipped into the deep, hypnotic concentration of their spell casting, feeling the barriers between them begin to shift and melt, falling in on one another.... almost as if they were one.... Lifting their hands, they gently let out their held breaths in perfect synchronization.... and paused. What were they talking about....?  
  
The girl and the moogle whispered softly to each other, the thrumming aura of the arcane rising to dangerous levels within the room.  
  
----  
  
"Wh-what's going on here?" Breathing softly, 69 shivered, eyes wide as he stared at the rising glow, feeling the magic lap and beat at him, almost painful...  
  
56 just eased a hand to his shoulder, not having an answer.  
  
----  
  
Voices soft and tense, the two jesters whispered to each other, confused. "It's glowing."  
  
"Glowing it is. But why? What's happening, wonder I do?"  
  
"As do I.... but whatever it is.... I don't like it...."  
  
The girl slipped to her feet weakly in the circle, and stopped. The two jesters stared, anxious, studying the suddenly aware girl.... and slowly raised their heads.  
  
Frightened, the two tried to bluff themselves into bravery, their words harsh. "We will put you to death.- Put you to death we will." It didn't work. Starting to shake with the instinctive apprehension of the newly damned, the twin jesters shrank against each other, eyes wide.…  
  
The.... The THING looked down at them. It looked... it looked like the demon god of moogles.... Like if a moogle was force fed liquid mist for about a week and sunk into the deepest dark rituals imaginable....  
  
Thorn's hand silently slid into his brother's palm, squeezing once as the girl suddenly stiffened, raising her head to the sky, and screamed out two strange, simple words: "TERRA HOMING!!!"  
  
---  
  
Their hands were still together. Which was odd. Considering that each and every other attempt at movement turned out more of a convulsive twitch than the planned, graceful movements the two lithe jesters could normally pull off with so much grace and skill.... Thorn stared silently at the dust a quarter inch from his face, dully contemplating each individual crystalline fragment as it slowly soaked in the blood pouring steadily from the four or five rents torn in his body. He couldn't feel them. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't even feel his own brother's hand in his grip, and he almost cried at that.... He couldn't squeeze his other's fingers, couldn't show him in the only way they had left that he was still there for him... Breathing was so hard....  
  
So hard....  
  
Letting his eyes close slowly, Thorn cursed softly, almost silently, his voice a bitter, breathy moan. Tools, they had been used as such. And now Kuja was throwing them away....  
  
Thorn stared dully out into space, feeling the comforting warmth of his own flowing blood.... He didn't blame the girl. It wasn't her fault, she was just defending herself.... No, the thing that hurt worse than the seven broken ribs aching within him, slowly filling his lungs with blood was that they would die a failure.... Falling away from life with their last thoughts and feelings over Kuja's disappointment. Their own disappointment....  
  
Thorn started to cry then, not because of anything else, but because, with the last bits of sensation in his twisted, broken hand, he could feel the iron hard fingers of his brother just beginning to go limp....  
  
The boy. The boy was wandering closer. Unable to move, and now becoming unable to breathe, Thorn shook softly as he felt the boy chatter inanely to one of his companions, the girl.... Blood filled his mouth with a horrid taste, but he couldn't spit it out. Nothing was working anymore.... Nothing. Feeling his eyes dimming, Thorn twitched helplessly as the world began to recede, the harsh, clipped conversation falling into a grumbling mush in his ears....  
  
The hand went limp. And he cried....  
  
----  
  
Words punched through the muddy treacle of his dimming consciousness, the harsh mocking tones he knew only too well....  
  
"....moog-....int-....Tr-nce!?"  
  
Too loud, he tried to call out to the rude, shouting person to be quiet. The only thing that came was a gout of blood falling from his mouth and nose.  
  
"...erupt-....'nger.... n'duce compl-.... tr-ce...."  
  
"N.........dsr........ngr......" A deep seated instinct to survive batted in terror at the approaching darkness, flailing at the curtains of night he could feel wrapping around him, strangling him.... couldn't breathe..... couldn't.....  
  
He squeezed. A finger popped strangely, the spiral break shifting slightly in the numb flesh.... A gasp, long and very, very soft, more a mindless moan than an intellectual sound.  
  
He tried spitting, but the blood filled his mouth, drowning his nose, filling his chest, pouring out.... So much blood.... All he could do was squeeze....  
  
Harsh laughter then, coarse and mocking. His ribcage twitching feebly, Thorn tried to suck in a breath.... and let out a half fluttering wail as his cracked ribs flared to life. Shaking his head, he vomited blood, each movement an agony....  
  
A pealing gasp came beside him as his brother's hand contorting wrongly in his too tight grip.  
  
Sobbing softly, Thorn tried to breathe, his ribs heaving as he fought the panic and the numbness. Wanting the pain, the pain of life, Thorn pulled....  
  
He couldn't get up. His arms were all funny, sort of longer, almost segmented, like a worm.... The bones sometimes poking through the bruised skin to show the neat new flexing points. He stared mindlessly at his now useless arms, wondering dully what the hell he was going to play tetra master with now.... The shock was coming back, and he couldn't seem to fight it....  
  
"W-Wait a minute!" The mage boy. Nearly blind, Thorn blinked softly, feeling the tiny, scuffling footsteps come closer....  
  
And then the blast hit.  
  
Pain. And joy. A strange joy. An old joy.... One the two of them hadn't felt in a long, long time. He heard his brother gasp out as the wall that had been forced into their minds over eighty years ago crumpled down, the last raping vestiges of that.... that old man's control over them, vanished like mist in the sun....  
  
The small plume of energy was all it took. It washed over them, sweet and stinging and sharp and beautifully agonizing, shocking their thrashed and mortally battered bodies the final surge of life....  
  
Thorn didn't know how he did it; muscles torn and bones actively thrusting through the skin with ever movement, Thorn tensed himself.... and pulled. Sliding through the dirt with a small, almost swimming movement, he scuttled to his brother's side.... and stared softly.  
  
Zorn's face was a mess, his eyes tightly closed and his face lacerated, almost puncturing one of his cheeks, the blood matting the thin, scraggly wisps of hair escaping from under his hat. Dirt caked the wound, dimming the blood. Zorn shifted slowly, turning to look into his brother's face, open eye glazed.... but he was grinning. Drawing himself closer, Thorn bent to his brother, easing himself down towards his other half, his soulmate, sighing as he sank to the dust. Raising himself with a shuddering, spastic movement, he hunched, half over Zorn's chest.... and smiled, letting his head sag to his brother's skin, hearing the weak pounding of his heart. He felt, in his broken, mangled hand, his brother's fingers leave his, one arm wrapping around him as he eased into position, slipping a hand behind his brother's back, apathetic at the grinding sounds emanating from his thrashed flesh.  
  
It had always felt so strange, he reflected as he laid his head against the warmth of his brother's thin, corded neck, it had always felt so strange with two arms. He was only supposed to have one. It didn't feel right....  
  
As his hand sank into his brother's back, he felt his lungs buck with a bloody outcry.... of longing realized, of a need fulfilled.... of joy. And then he was there, inside his mind, where he was supposed to be....  
  
He felt Zorn's torn cheek, the numbness across the right side of his face.... prompting the flesh closed and the ache of his damaged eye to heal in it's socket, Thorngemini sighed softly, feeling the warmth of growth, the pain of birth, sweet and so dearly missed, break over him. Over them....  
  
They had been so young then, and foolish. The pale, old one had looked so pathetically frail, laughable.... They had paid for their mistake in pain and blood, crying out. But death hadn't been their punishment for the brashness of youth.... That beast of a monster, clad in iron brown, that old, weathered man, had taken the only thing that had mattered to the young, gruesome monster away from them. Each other. It had taken a good three days for the minds to stabilize past the mindless howling stage. They had awakened to coldness and smallness, weak and empty.... and alone. A being that had never known isolation suddenly was plunged into it like a Vespal into boiling water. Christened Thorn, Left-gemini had nearly gone insane in the solitude, isolated from his other half, isolated from everyone, trying to ignore the obedience programming drilled into his skull....  
  
Ninety years. Ninety years locked away within the prison of his own mind, a being separated, incomplete.... Thorngemini sobbed softly as he was rejoined, growing and joining, the presence within his mind soothing a piercing ache he had long ago forgot was there....  
  
Garland had told them the pain would end, eventually. The sensations of agony, spiritual and physical, the raging loneliness, the perpetual manic depression, the nightmares.... He had told them that, over and over again. And it never had....  
  
That man, that old weathered, pathetic man.... Ninety years, torn and violated, minds half-mad from pain and loss....  
  
And now it was over.  
  
Zorngemini smiled, feeling his lips pull slightly as they healed over, the fleshy crest atop his head going back briefly as he blinked away the last of the marring cataracts clouding his newly healed eye.... Stretching almost impossibly long, muscle-corded arms, they suddenly shivered, rising from the clogging dust, to meet the stares of those they had once known.  
  
The funny little mages. Zorngemini smiled softly, feeling the warm comforting amiability of Left within his mind.... The merging wasn't all the way complete yet. Over eighty years of enforced individualism had to be battered down and that took a bit of work, and time. Two mouths twisted into a grin, a soft, wistful grin of the truly happy....  
  
And then the clapping began. Striding softly forward, the pale man that had caused them so much pain suddenly was near them, reaching out to touch.... They moved aside with a menacing hiss, unwieldy looking bulk moving with deceptive agility.  
  
"So this is the repulsive monstrosity Garland spoke of lassoing into slavery all those years ago. I had always heard him speak of a truly repugnant, loathsome creature he had managed to dupe and capture, but I had never in my life thought that the hideous beast he had caught had been you two pathetic losers.... How amusing."  
  
The pale hand settled across Meltigemini's stomach, fingers lightly tracing against the mocha skin. Twin mouths cracking at the unpleasant, unwanted touch, Meltigemini ducked back, sliding across the dust and away, snarling as Kuja followed, apparently fascinated....  
  
Voice ghastly and echoing from the two toothy mouths, Meltigemini gasped slightly, pulling away with a jerk. "Leave us alone Kuja. We are no longer your subservient little whipping boys any longer. We are home...."  
  
Shaking his head with a smirk, Kuja just sighed, waving a finger at the wary, angry looking monstrosity with an admonishing wave. "Now now, think its that easy do you? Just break a few little strings and suddenly everything is better? Silly little freak, you should know better than that...."  
  
Roaring in reverberating, twin voiced anger, Meltigemini howled, fists clenched and fleshy tassels flat to his necks. "WE ARE FREE OF YOU!!! FREE!! You will never hurt us agai- aah-AAAGH!!!"  
  
Zornjemini suddenly arched, his eyes going very wide.... Blood sliding from Right's mouth in a sudden wet spasm, Meltigemini stood, utterly stunned, before slipping into a half turn, feverish eyes sliding behind them.  
  
Zidane stood, a faint grin on his face and the knife in his hand wet and dripping.  
  
The clanking armored one moved up beside him, growling disapprovingly. "Ignoble monkey. You shame your honor, striking while the beast's back is turned."  
  
The blonde haired boy merely shrugged deferentially. "Hey, no honor among thieves, right Rusty? Besides, it's just one monster among many. Look at it!"  
  
The armored man's eyes shone with disgust as he drew his sword, looking as if he didn't know who to be more repulsed by, Zidane's lack of chivalry or Meltigemini's appearance.  
  
The stab wound in his side bubbled alarmingly with each breath. But, having pulled back from the utter brink of destruction once already today, Meltigemini just smiled softly, the warm nirvana of being together once again filling his soul with a confidence long since lost. Wary, he stared down at the two, watching the knight and monkey tailed boy joined by the princess. Staring at the gathering group with growing apprehension, Meltigemini wheezed, bleeding onto the dust.  
  
"There is that one thing, my half melted jesters.... The illustrious good guys are here, and they don't look happy. Do try to put up a half decent fight, and try not to embarrass me too much when they finally cut your heads off.... Ta! I have other things to attend to...." Patting the blood wet shoulder, Kuja laughs softly, slipping across the dusty room and away....  
  
~maybe we can talk talking is an option talking is not an option they already stabbed us in the back they see nothing but what their eyes can show them they will kill us if they can we have no other choice....~  
  
Nodding grimly, the arms rose once again, hands grasping the sky as the power bubbled forth, of corruption and damage, of melting flesh and green death, foam spraying from the mouth as the body curled in on itself, blood turning black in the veins.... The Bio spell gathered, the hideous roiling green gas of toxins building to a stormy, almost frothy pitch in the two outstretched hands.... Raising its hands for the casting of the debilitating venom, Meltigemini let the fingers spread, death-wreathed hands glowing-  
  
The wet, meaty sucking sound was strange to Thorngemini's ears as he suddenly felt a strange sensation. They had just been stabbed.... He should be feeling the pain. Glancing over with shock numbed surprise, he blinked, staring softly....  
  
Zorngemini's head hung limp to his chest, blood pouring steadily from his lax mouth... A numbness washing over him, Thorngemini slowly glanced downwards....  
  
Steiner looked malcontent with his current position, sword held at a lateral angle and buried to the hilt within the strange brownish gray meat that now seemed to be doing all it could to douse him in its foul smelling blood. He looked up, scowling at the dazed look, the sensations cut forever when his sword had met in that single unlucky instant and severed the spinal column just above the branch. Twisting the sword once to free it, he tugged, bathing his already less than spotless armor in the pinkish ichor. The eyes that met his....  
  
Those alien eyes spoke with a loss so profound, so endless that he had to look away, the already slowly dying creature suddenly tugging itself off of his sword. One arm and head lay limp, hanging by the mutual flesh they shared.... Off balance and stumbling, the creature swayed, head falling to the side as it opened its mouth.... and howled.  
  
A pitiful, heartbroken sound, the only remaining head screamed into the darkness, tottering weakly as it wailed like a lost child.  
  
Zidane shook his head, sighing softly to himself as he hefted his blade....  
  
"Demonslayer, don't fail me now." He dashed forward, launching into a run....  
  
The blades opened his torso, spilling out his vitals to the ground. Thorngemini stared dully at his own loops of pale intestine almost tripping him up as he glanced at the gaping wound in his torso.... He didn't resist as he felt the shivering enchantment fall over him. The world grew as he shrank, sinking down to the size of a goblin.... Staring at the ground as the hanging, lifeless half of his brother held him down, he didn't move as he felt the knight, taking a moment to honor the beast a moment of recognition, of a warrior's mercy, he raised his sword once in acknowledgment.... before sweeping it to the side and through in one long, unbroken movement.  
  
Thorngemini didn't mind this. When he had felt the right half of his body suddenly go numb, nothing had mattered.... A long healed scar in his mind had been filled, giving him the warmth and love, the connection, the unity that he had lost.... He welcomed the sword with silent tears as he felt it shear through his neck, his last thought filling his head as it became separated by the razor edged blade was a soft one, of a final realization.  
  
~Zorn will be there. I'll never be alone again....~  
  
  
  
*sniff..... sniff, sniff* Waah! *cries* I never thought that I'd fall in wuv with Zorn and Thorn! And then I had ta kill em! THAT was hard, though I am well known for torturing characters I like.... *blinks at the ghosts of Zorn and Thorn, currently glaring at me* WHAT?? It's cannon for Odd's sake! Shoo! *pulls out the Ghostbuster's backpack blasters and scowls* Bugger off you two! Or no humor fics for you! *they leave, grumbling* Well anyway, the great betrayal and consternation of all mages soon. I wonder if I should do a separate mini fic for 192.... *tilts head* If ya think so, call sad_mudokon@hotmail.com and bludgeon me for even doubting it! Heh, see you in chapter eight! 


End file.
